


Dreams of Felsaad

by r0gue1



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Start, Backstory, Dragonborn DLC, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Lost Love, NORDS - Freeform, Sexual Content, Skaal, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, mods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0gue1/pseuds/r0gue1
Summary: A Nord woman returns to her roots buried in the snow and ash of Solstheim in search of answers.





	1. A Second Chance

It had been a fortnight since she escaped the abandoned prison in Eastmarch. She couldn’t even remember how she came to be there, and much had happened since then. It was as though one reality had passed into the fog of her mind and another had taken shape around her. The more she reflected on it, the more it felt like a passing dream.

The storm came, and she had taken refuge atop the tall, empty wooden shelf in her cell, which housed a multitude of unused furniture. The torrential rainfall engorged the White River which ran alongside the prison, and within hours its banks were breached. The water poured into the prison, and with the innumerous leaks in the stone infrastructure; it completely flooded by nightfall.  The guards had long abandoned the prison, leaving the prisoners to die. She stared off into the flickering light of the torch on the wall across from her while dangling her hand over the side of the shelf letting her fingers kiss the water’s surface. She was calm and unafraid, for she knew that death was only the closing of one door and the opening of another. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the water echoing through the prison lull her, and she dreamed of a foreign land covered in snow and ash. The coastal waters rolled ashore and a flock of Felsaad terns flew overhead. The lights of the aurora danced brightly in the sky veiled behind ash from the Red Mountain, and as her breathing slowed and her body relaxed; she dreamed of Felsaad. The torch went out with a hiss. 

When she awoke, the flood waters had receded, leaving only ankle-deep water throughout the prison. The air was cool and humid. She sat up, arching her back with her arms folded behind her head in a stretch, and jumped down from the shelf. It was then that she noticed something that had not been there before. Across the cell, next a large wooden table, was a statue of Mara. She wrinkled her brow, tilting her head to the side, as she approached the statue with curiosity. She reached out and ran her fingers down the right cheek of the statue’s face, noting that its surface was warm and completely dry. She smirked, shaking her head, “I must get out of this cell. I am starting to go mad,” she muttered to herself. As she turned to walk over to the cell door, she noticed three lock picks on the wooden table next to the statue. She immediately grabbed them, “where did you come from,” she gasped with disbelief. She looked suspiciously at the statue again before hurrying over to the door to pick the lock. When she finally had the door open, she turned to look at the statue of Mara once more, but it was gone.

She made her way up the stairs toward the main area of the prison. Her overwhelming excitement was soon overshadowed by the sudden realization that she was the only survivor. The bodies of the other prisoners were lying on the ground soaked and bloated from the water. Stepping over a few of the deceased, she found the chest containing the items the guards had confiscated. She picked the lock delicately, and lifted the lid open. Inside she found her personal belongings, a little damp, but all accounted for. She pulled her clothes out of the chest then looked around the prison hesitantly, forgetting that she was alone, and undressed. Her Woodland robes were made of forest green camlet from goat hide, belted over a modestly low-cut, thin, brown leather tunic. She teetered on either foot as she pulled on her dark green, suede tights and brown, leather Wayfarer boots with spurs. She then secured her belt bags around her waist, and pulled her cross-body satchel over her head, opened it, and sighed. The satchel was completely empty. She then checked her belt bags one by one. The necklace and ring were still there along with the several bank notes, some gold, a brown face mask, her Wayfarer scarf, and a pair of chitin goggles. She pulled the necklace from one of the bags and held it in the palm of her hand while tracing its details with her finger.  

The necklace consisted of a light-colored leather cord adorned with eleven symmetrically strung beads made of flawless emerald. The pendant was made of silver with an ancient Nordic carving in its center, a second ring of silver encircled the pendant secured in place by fragments of Bristleback boar tusk. It had belonged to her mother then her father passed it down to her after she died. She fastened the necklace around her neck, then tied her scarf over it to hide the necklace from thieving eyes. She slid the smoothed bone ring her father had made for her long ago over her right index finger, then pulled on her gloves. She reached down into the chest and pulled out a beautiful, hand-carved, wooden hunting bow, a leather tube of steel arrows, and a pair of leather-handled, Nordic daggers forged from quicksilver. She took a moment to admire the bow, running her hand down its limbs and plucking the string at the nocking point. She and her father had retrieved this bow from Clearspring Tarn, southeast of Mistwatch in the Rift, twelve years earlier. Her father had told her it was the Bow of the Hunt, the fabled bow carried by the legendary Bourlor, the greatest archer in all of Tamriel. “Bourlor was blessed by Kynareth, and used the bow to kill the evil daedra, Vernaccus,” he read to her from the book on the subject.

Regardless if the story was true, the bow was hers, and it brought them good fortune on their hunts. She pulled the strap for the tube of arrows over her head, fixed the bow on her back, and sheathed the daggers. On the ground next to the chest was her walking stick, and brown, fur backpack. Attached to the outside of the pack was a rolled up leather tent, a small cooking pot, a torch, a hatchet, an empty waterskin, and her father’s Amulet of Kynareth.  Glancing inside the pack she found a rolled up, hide and fur, double bedroll, a small lantern, some assorted food items, a small, single-cup tea press, her apothecary satchel containing various ingredients for brewing tea, a worn, folded up, paper map of Skyrim, and her brown, padded fur hood that fastened over her right shoulder and draped down her back. She pulled her hood over her head, but let it hang around her neck and shoulders. She took out the map to have on hand then pulled the straps of the pack over her shoulders, picked up her walking stick, and made her way out of the prison. Made her way to freedom.


	2. Live Another Life

The warmth from the afternoon sun kissed her face harshly, forcing her to squint her eyes. She breathed deeply, smiling. The air was fresh and she could feel the wet mist from the flowing river in her nostrils when she inhaled. She unfolded the map, studying it for several minutes before folding it back up and storing it in one of her belt bags. She decided to make her way to Mixwater Mill and take the East Line to Chillfurrow Farm just outside of Whiterun. Once there she would head into the city for a meal, a warm bed, and to restock on supplies for the continuation of her journey. Where she was going, she did not know. Being a Scout Healer granted her complete nomadic freedom and adequate fortune, but she often times found herself nostalgic and longing for a more still, quiet life. She walked to the river’s edge and knelt down to refill her waterskin, when a brown and white rabbit suddenly approached her. Her face lit up and she smiled, “It’s you!” She scooped the rabbit up into her arms and nuzzled the top of his head in between his ears. “I thought I might never see you again,” she said as she set him back down on the ground, “Are you hungry?” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a tasty carrot. “Here,” she said dropping the carrot beside him. She felt her own stomach grumble, and ate a red apple while watching the rabbit eat his carrot.  She took several sips from her waterskin to wash down the apple, then looked down at the rabbit, “You ready to head out?” He stood up on his hind legs, looking up at her, and his nose and whiskers twitched. She smiled, picked him up, and placed him in the satchel. Once he nestled in, she set off for the mill.

Along the way, she foraged a variety of mountain flowers, snowberries, even some honeycomb from a vacant beehive, with which she would later brew some tea. She hesitated in her step as she passed Fort Amol when she noticed Imperial soldiers patrolling the area and guarding the fort from the bulwark. She wondered if they knew about the prison, and became somewhat nervous. She pulled her hood up over her head, and watched the soldiers out of the corners of her eyes. As she walked past the fort, she overheard two of them conversing.

“Can’t wait to kill another of Ulfric’s boys”, one of them said. “Been so long since I killed a Stormcloak, my sword arm’s getting flabby,” the other replied. They both laughed. “Did you hear about Helgen,” one asked. “Yeah, bad business that!” “I could hardly believe it! A dragon! Burned the whole village to the ground!” Their voices faded off into the distance. “A dragon”, she thought to herself. She decided her trip to Whiterun could wait.

She arrived in Riverwood mid-afternoon. The journey by boat had taken roughly five hours, and she was ready to be back on her feet. She gathered up her pack and walking stick, and started walking south through the quaint little town. There was an inn and two children running around with a dog, playing, a general goods store, a lumber mill, and a blacksmith. She thought the people seemed nice enough, and perhaps she would visit there again someday. The road was winding and began to incline alongside the river. She came to a stone platform upon which three tall stones were sitting. When she moved in closer to examine them, she noted a thief on the first stone, a mage on the second, and a warrior on the third. She remembered the shaman’s lesson: “There are six sacred Stones – Wind, Water, Earth, Beast, Sun and Tree. They serve as the conduits for the All-Maker’s gift. It is through them that the Oneness of the land is maintained.”

She noticed a small fire on the beach down the hill from the stones, and set off down the rocky path to check it out. She could see that it was a hunter fishing off of a stump. He had his tent pitched, a leg of goat roasting over the fire, and several hides tanning. She was caught by surprise when she saw the double doors embedded in the rock wall on the mountain side, and looked at it curiously. “Well met, kinsman,” the hunter said noticing her. “Good day,” she replied, peering out at him from under her hood, “why are these doors here?” “That is Blackfall Temple. Doesn’t get too many visitors these days and I’ve been hunting and fishing in these parts for years,” replied the hunter. “So what’s the story behind it”, she asked. He smiled at her, “The temple was built long ago into the earth, and served as a hidden place for the worshippers who knew of it to come and worship freely. All were welcome regardless of who they prayed to. Then roughly two centuries ago, the High King learned of its existence and of the Daedric shrines within. He sent Witchhunters to cleanse the temple, and when they arrived they killed everyone who was inside. Since then, the temple hasn’t received many visitors, but the shrines are still there.” She looked at the doors again. “Go on in,” he said, “see for yourself.”

She entered the temple and walked through a small, tunneled out section of the rock before coming to another set of double doors. When she pushed the doors open, she entered a long room carved into the surrounding stone. The pulled her fur hood off of her head, took the rabbit out of the satchel, and set him on the floor so he could stretch his legs. There were eight candlelit alters on each side of the room, and nine shrines in the back. She studied at each altar as she made her way to the back of the room. They all appeared to be adorned with offerings and tokens left by previous worshippers. When she reached the back of the temple she saw the Shrine of Kynareth in the far left corner. She knelt before the Shrine, setting her walking stick and pack on the floor. She pulled her father’s amulet from the front of the pack, and studied it in the palm of her hand, turning it over. She frowned and her brow furrowed as she remembered the day her father packed their things.

They had only just burned her body the day before; she had been sick for some time. She thought it was a cruel joke back then, the healer who couldn’t be healed. Perhaps if they’d been somewhere with more advanced healers, more advanced medicine? The Imperial City, perhaps? It didn’t matter anymore. Her mother was dead, and her father was having a crisis of faith. He believed if the All-Maker were real, his wife would still be alive. Her father was Skaal in his blood and bones, but his mind had been elsewhere for far too long. He booked passage for two out of Raven Rock to Windhelm. Her pleading and tears had been futile, and he gave her no choice. To make matters worse, he waited until the middle of the night to leave, so there would be no explaining. She never said goodbye. They had made their new home in The Rift. A small homestead her father called Whitetail Edge due to the amount of Whitetail deer in the area, situated on the edge of the Treva River. Her father made a modest fortune fishing, and rented out a nearby camp he’d set up on the water’s edge for other fishermen to use. In spare time, the two of them continued hunting and foraging, just like they did back in Solstheim, and she met her rabbit companion while out on one of their excursions. About a year after they’d settled in, her father began worshipping the goddess, Kynareth. At first he did this in private, after she had gone to sleep or in the early mornings before she woke. But on one restless night when she couldn’t sleep, she discovered him in the separate little shack he had built for storage and reading. “Who is she?” She knelt on the floor of the shack next to him in front of the little shrine. He looked at her lovingly, “She is the mother of men and beasts. The goddess of the air, wind, and sky. She is nature,” he said, “In the Ten Commands, Kynareth says: Use nature’s gifts wisely. Respect her power, and fear her fury.” “Sort of like the All-Maker,” she said observantly. “Yes,” he frowned, looking at the floor. Perhaps he felt guilty for stripping his daughter of the faith she had grown up with. In the absence of the All-Maker’s presence, it had been a year since she meditated, and the idea of joining her father in his worship of this goddess of nature brought her peace and gave her a sense of hope, again. “May…” she hesitated, “May I join you?” Her father looked up at her and she noticed tears in his eyes. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead, “Yes! Yes, of course!” She had not returned to Whitetail Edge since leaving after her father died.

Her eyes refocused on the burning candle within the shrine, and she wiped the tears from her eyes and face with her sleeve. She reached into her apothecary satchel, and pulled out some blue, red, and purple mountain flower. She placed a single gold piece on the floor in front of the shrine, and arranged the flowers around it. She touched the shrine to accept its blessing, then she stood back up with her pack and walking stick. Once she was ready to leave, she collected the rabbit and placed him back in the satchel.

She could see the smoke as she rounded the corner. When she reached the end of the road leading up to Helgen, she could already sense the catastrophic damage. She started walking towards the gate when all of a sudden a huge shadow cast over her, and she heard the wind-piercing roar. She looked up to the sky and saw gigantic black, leathery wings, and a long, barbed tail with a spade-like tip. The head reminded her of an Argonian’s, only it was terrifying with menacing horns. She stood there, frozen, and watched in panic as the giant beast flew off to the northeast. Once she regained her bearings, she turned and started running towards the Helgen gate.

She walked through the gate, and time seemed to stand still. The silence was deafening, the complete lack of life was haunting, and the smell of burning bodies turned her stomach. The stone towers and the bulwark were still standing, but every home had been reduced to smoldering rubble. In one home she encountered the charred body of a woman on her knees holding her dead infant. Her eyes welled up with tears and she turned away quickly. It was too much to bear. She walked towards the main keep and looked around, noticing archery targets and fresh footprints in the mud where soldiers had been practicing. She caught sight of a corpse burning in the corner that appeared to be clutching something. As she knelt down to take the object, the corpse disintegrated into ash. It was a leather journal. She blew the ash and soot off the binding and opened it. The journal detailed the dead man’s illegal border crossing, and his discovery of an Imperial ambush. A dragon had sacked Helgen, and Ulfric Stormcloak had evaded execution and escaped. “Surely others escaped as well,” she thought as she kept reading:

> _Hadvar and Ralof set aside their differences to help the survivors. They went into the lower keep hours ago. Something about caves with a back entrance. I don’t think they’re coming back. I’ll have to see if I can get out of the city and down to Riverwood. Someone needs to warn them!_

She closed the journal, placed it in her pack, and immediately set off in search of the mentioned cave. She went back through the gate then turned left, running towards the back of the lower keep. “There must be an underground tunnel that leads to the cave entrance,” the thought to herself. She decided to trust instinct and started walking north. Within minutes she found the cave. She lit the torch from her pack, took a deep breath, and ventured inside.

The cave was dark and damp, and she could hear the rumbling of falling rocks echoing throughout. “This cave won’t hold much longer,” she thought to herself. She started walking faster, and noticed a blood trail. Unsure if it was the blood of someone who had escaped, or if it came from outside, the readied her bow in the event she was walking into a bear den. She was crouched low, but still moving quickly. She entered what seemed to be the main area of the cave, and noticed a body on the ground. She put away her bow and ran over to find a badly wounded Imperial soldier lying on the ground. He was curled up on his left side in fetal position, clutching his right arm with his left; she didn’t think he could move his legs. She knelt down on the ground in front of him and the soldier looked up at her, coughing, “What are you doing here?” She placed her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “I came to see what is going on.” The soldier recoiled at her touch, “Are you mad? You need to warn Riverwood! Quit messing around and get down there!” She was surprised and confused by his sudden outburst. “No, you don’t understand, I-“, he cut her off, “No, you don’t understand… oh to Oblivion with it. You’re here, and I need help. I need healing or a healing potion before I can go on,” he started coughing again. “Once I’m back on my feet we can go together and warn them. So long as that dragon isn’t still out there. Nodding with understanding, she put her hands out in front of her, just over Hadvar’s body, as if warming them over a fire. As she concentrated, a warm, soft glow began to emanate from her hands and surround his body. A few moments later he seemed to spring back to life. “Thanks, that’s much bett- LOOK OUT!” There was a sudden loud crash and dirt and debris filled the air. They were fine for the time being, but the cave wasn’t going to last much longer. “Damn, that was close,” he said. He was up on his feet moving toward the exit. “I don’t see Ralof anywhere. We should get out of here.” They took off running towards the exit with the sounds of falling rocks getting louder behind them, and escaped just in time.

She leaned forward with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. The soldier looked up at the sky for any signs of the dragon, but there was nothing. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time, but I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back,” he said, “Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle’s the blacksmith there, I’m sure he’d help you out. Come on, I’ll feel better once we’re under cover in Riverwood.” She looked up at him from her stooped over position, “I thought,” she spoke in between breaths, “dragons were all dead…long ago.” “So did I,” said Hadvar, if the damn Stormcloaks somehow found one or woke it up, the war might be about to take an ugly turn. Hard to be believe it was just a coincidence that the first dragon anyone’s seen for centuries attacks just as Ulfric was about to be executed.” She stood up straight, shaking her head, not knowing what to believe. “We better keep moving,” he said, ushering her along. They made their way down the winding road. Her back and feet ached, and she was ready for some food and rest.


	3. Before the Storm

The sun had set by the time they reached Riverwood, and the blacksmith was finishing up his last bit of work before heading inside for supper. “Uncle Alvor! Hello!” The smith turned to the voice, and looked surprised. “Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from-“he gasped when he got a better look at him, “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?” A few of the town folk had stepped out on to their porches, and Hadvar didn’t want to draw anymore unwanted attention. “Shh. Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I’m fine. But we should go inside to talk.” Alvor looked completely puzzled, and then noticed her standing next to Hadvar and his look shifted to suspicion. “What’s going on? And who’s this?” Hadvar took a small side step in between them to regain Alvor’s attention, “Käthe. She’s a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I’ll explain everything but we need to go inside.” Alvor diverted his eyes from her and looked at Hadvar, “Okay, okay. Come inside, then. Sigrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it.”

Alvor’s home was warm from the fire burning in the hearth, and smelled of fresh-made venison stew. Her stomach grumbled. A little girl sat in a chair across the room next to a small square table, watching her with curiosity. She smiled at the girl, and asked her if she liked rabbits. She nodded, smiling back. Käthe reached into her satchel and pulled out the rabbit. The little girl’s face lit up, and when she set the rabbit down on the floor, he hopped over towards the girl who giggled with amusement. Alvor called out, “Sigrid, we have company!” As he was taking a seat at the dining table, a tall woman about her height with long red hair came up the stairs from the basement. “Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat,” she said grabbing some extra bowls. Hadvar turned to her and nodded toward one of the vacant chairs at the table, then he walked across the room to take a seat at the end of the table. “Now then, boy,” said Alvor after swallowing some mead, “what’s the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?” Hadvar sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know where to start,” he said as he shook his head. He then leaned forward in his chair, looking at Alvor, “You know I was assigned to General Tullius’ guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked...by a dragon.” He watched his uncle’s face for a moment for reaction. Alvor wrinkled his brow, “A dragon? That’s…ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you boy?” Sigrid scolded Alvor as she placed a bowl of stew in front of Hadvar then moved around the table to her, “Husband! Let him tell his story.” Hadvar’s eyes followed Sigrid around the room before turning back to his uncle, “not much more to tell, I’m afraid. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if anyone else got out alive.” He looked over at her and managed a tired smile. “I doubt I’d have made it out if not for my friend here.” Alvor glanced over at her then back at Hadvar. “I need to get back to Solitude, and let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, and place to stay.” Alvor reached over and patted Hadvar on his shoulder, then looked over at her across the table, “Of course! Any friend of Hadvar is a friend of mine. I’d be glad to help however I can.” She smiled and nodded at him with gratitude. A look of concern washed over Alvor’s face, “But I need your help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. You need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can. If you do this for me, I’ll be in your debt.” “You have my word,” she replied.

After supper, Sigrid had prepared some warm water in a washbasin downstairs for her, and gave her a sleeveless, linen shift to sleep in. She could hear the little girl, Dorthe, upstairs interrogating her cousin while playing with the rabbit. “Hadvar, did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?” Sigrid shushed her, “Hush, child. Don’t pester your cousin.” She smiled faintly then returned to the washbasin. She ran a warm, damp muslin cloth down her arms, then rinsed it in the warm water. She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall over the washbasin.

Her fair, cool-toned skin and peachy cheeks were covered in the thinnest layer of dirt. Her eyebrows were dark blonde with a natural arch that had never required much grooming. Her eyelashes were light, but long over her sage green eyes. Her cheekbones sat low but defined on her face. She turned her head to the right and sighed. Her nose gently sloped down and forward from between her eyes with her nostrils angled slightly upward.  She had never liked her nose; she felt it stuck out too far resembling some bird’s beak. Her lips were small and thin, and her upper lip came out slightly further than the bottom. They creases of her jowls and the downward turn of her mouth’s corners gave her a natural frown. She never smiled much anyway. Her ash blonde hair was situated in a disheveled braid over her right shoulder, falling just over her breast. She examined the faded marking that stretched over her left brow and cheek that was lighter than the rest of her skin. It resembled a dragon’s claw, but with only two talons stretching over the cheek.

She held the soaked muslin cloth in her right hand, and she reached up with her left to gently trace the markings with her fingers. She suddenly remembered a young man with hair as dark as a werewolf’s pelt and eyes a soft, light brown. She leaned over the basin with her left hand and reached up with her right to run the warm, damp cloth across the back then the front of her neck. His skin was somewhat darker than hers from sun exposure, and his face was coated in dirt, sweat, and he had a thick, black beard that was trimmed short. His nose was masculine and prominent, and his lower lip stuck out in a slight pout. She slowly moved the cloth side to side over her clavicles then down her sternum. His brow was slightly creased with a kind but serious expression. He wore a full set of thick, fur armor that would disguise him in the snow. The coat was hooded with leather straps that crossed in the front and back, and belted with a fur satchel and a Nord war horn over his right hip. He was using a smithing hammer on an anvil. She lowered the cloth down between her breasts, and water trickled down her abdomen underneath the shift. Over his left brow and cheek was the same marking, only it was blue. Looking up at her, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and his lips formed a smile. She brushed her hand over her left breast, breathing heavy, and her lips parted when she grazed her nipple.

“I’m glad you decided to come with me.” She quickly caught her breath, flushed and startled, and quickly submerged the cloth in the water so she could wash her face. She turned slightly and looked over her right shoulder to see Hadvar standing at the foot of the stairs, leaning against a support beam, smiling at her. He cleared his throat and walked towards her. “It’s nice to be back in a friendly spot, huh?” He took a seat in a chair next to a nightstand situated behind her. “It is,” she said as she ran the cloth over her face, scrubbing the dirt from her pores. “Listen, I’m going to lay up here for a while. You can make your own way to Solitude from here. I’d recommend heading to Whiterun, just down the road from here. From there you can take a carriage to Solitude.” She set the cloth down, and turned around to face him, with her hands on the rim of the basin behind her back. “You really think I should join the Imperial Legion?” He stood up from the chair quickly as if surprised by her question, “Of course! The Legion could really use someone like you, especially now. And if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them.” She folded her arms in front her, raising one her of eyebrows. “You think General Tullius knows where that dragon came from?” He glanced at the floor then back at her. “No. Not yet. After all, a dragon…something out of old tales and legends…no one could have expected that.” He walked across the room, behind the bar counter, and grabbed a bottle of Nord mead from a shelf. “But you can bet he’ll be trying to figure it out. This could shift the whole balance of the war. If you want to help stop that dragon, your best bet is to go to Solitude and join up with the Imperial Legion. I think you’ll see that the Legion is Skyrim’s only hope for real peace right now. I know you’ll make the right choice in the end.” She averted her eyes from his to glance at the floor for a moment, then met his gaze. He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth, taking a swig. “You make a good case”, she said. “Maybe I will join up.” He swallowed the mead and looked over at her grinning, “I hope so. I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you if I get back to Solitude first.” She nodded at him, “Thank you, Hadvar.” As he approached the stairs to head back up, he stopped. “I’ll never forget what you did for me,” he said smiling at her.  She smiled back, and he returned upstairs.

She turned around to face the mirror again, and grabbed a nearby handled, stone pitcher filled with warm water.  She took apart the messy, tangled braid that was her hair, and combed through it with her fingers. Foggy memories of her mother brushing her hair by the fire floated up from the depths of her mind. These memories were few and far between, and always brought her sadness and regret. She leaned her head over into the basin and poured the water over her hair. She remembered her mother washing her hair each night with warm water and soaps that smelled of lavender and Blue Mountain flower, always humming a tune while she worked out the tangles. Her eyes were stinging and welling up with tears. “It’s just the soap,” she told herself while pouring the rest of the pitcher over her hair.

The weather had been perfect for her three-hour boat ride to Chillfurrow Farm. The sun shined brightly, high in the sky, and a steady cool breeze blew over the treeless, plains of Whiterun Hold. The birds were chirping, and the air was fragrant from the many wildflowers in bloom.  She made her way up the road to the city, admiring the black horses stabled just outside the main gate. As she approached the entrance, one of guards came towards her. “Halt! The city is closed with the dragons about. Official business only,” he said. She peered at him from under her hood, leaning on her walking stick with a hand on her hip. “I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack,” she said in an effort to persuade him. He traded a glance with the other guard who shrugged his shoulders. He grumbled turning back to face her, “Fine, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you.” She bowed her head at him in thanks and smirked as he turned to open the gate.

She pulled back her hood as the palace doors closed behind her, and took a moment to take it all in. Dragonsreach was so much larger than she could have ever anticipated. She realized the Great Hall in Skaal village dwarfed in comparison, and it was the largest building she’d ever set foot in. She ran her fingers across the carvings in the massive wood columns as she made her way up the stairs. When she reached the top, she was greeted by a large central fire pit, and a very militant-looking Dunmer with sword in hand. “What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors,” she snarled in a condescending tone. She held her chin up, looking down at the Dunmer, “I am Käthe Hvitkald, and I have news from Helgen,” she said plainly. The dark elf quickly sheathed her sword and seemed to ease up, “That explains why the guards let you in. Come on, the Jarl will want to speak with you personally.” She led her toward to throne where an older, leanly-built man slouched in an over-sized chair while conversing with a bald, well-dressed Imperial fellow. Her eyes tracked upward and paused on the enormous dragon skull hanging on the wall behind them, and she remembered the giant black monster that flew out of Helgen.

“So. You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?” The Jarl sat motionless awaiting her response with his hands on either arm of his chair. “The dragon destroyed Helgen,” she replied, “and last I saw it was heading this way.” He raised his eyebrows leaning forward, “By Ismir, Irileth was right!” The three began to argue back and forth, and their voices faded out as she stared up at the dragon skull hanging over the throne. It was menacing, but somehow felt familiar to her. “Enough!” The Jarl shouted abruptly, startling her out of her daze. “Irileth send a detachment to Riverwood at once.” “Yes, my Jarl,” the Dunmer replied, bowing her head towards him before making her way to the guard barracks. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my duties,” said Proventus, the Imperial, as he walked off towards the kitchens. “Well done,” the Jarl addressed her, “You sought me out, on your own initiative. You’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it.” He ran his fingers through his goatee, squinting his eyes in study of her. “There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and…rumors of dragons.”


	4. Bleak Falls Barrow

“I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!” “Well, what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!” “We are done talking about this.” The Imperial shopkeeper looked over to see her standing in the doorway. “Oh,” he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “a customer. Sorry you had to hear that. I don’t know what you overheard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open. Feel free to shop.” The Imperial woman who was arguing with him, took a seat at the table by the hearth fire as Käthe approached the counter, lifting her hood off her head, “Did something happen?” The shopkeeper cleared his throat, “Uh, yes, we did have a bit of a…break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon’s claw.” “Any idea where the thieves are hiding out?” She asked looking back and forth between the man and the woman. “Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town,” he replied. Käthe chuckled looking down at the counter shaking her head, “Bleak Falls Barrow, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a smirk, “You know, the Jarl’s court wizard has sent me on an errand to the barrow. I could help you get the claw back.” His eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows looking at her. “You could? I’ve got some coin coming in from my last shipment,” he said with excitement. “It’s yours if you bring my claw back!” She nodded at him, and they shook on it. “So this is your plan, Lucan?” Camilla had folded her arms across her chest, pouting. “Yes, Camilla,” he replied “So now you don’t have to go, do you?” Käthe started walking towards the door thinking maybe if she snuck out she could avoid listening to them bicker once more, but the Imperial woman suddenly looked like the cat that ate the mouse, “Oh really? Well, I think your new helper here needs guide,” she mocked him, grinning smugly. Käthe cringed with her hand on the door’s handle then turned around slowly for Lucan’s response. “Wh…no…I…Oh, by the Eight, fine!” Lucan caved, “But only to the edge of town!”

“We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow. You can see it from here though. The mountain just over the buildings,” remarked Camilla as she pointed over Alvor’s house. They set off down the road towards the bridge, passing the inn on the right. “Those thieves must be mad hiding out there,” said Camilla, “Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else. I wonder why they only stole Lucan’s golden claw. We have plenty of things in the shop worth just as much coin. Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it. He’s a tricky one.” When they reached the bridge, Camilla stopped, “This is the bridge out of town. The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow.” She turned to look at Käthe before heading back to the inn. “I guess I should get back to my brother. He’ll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child,” she chuckled. Käthe was still studying the path winding up the mountain, “How much farther is it to the barrow?” Camilla turned and looked back up at the mountain, then at her,” Well it’s a winding road up the mountain. You’ll know you’re in the right place when you reach the old watchtower. Once you’re at the tower, head north, Bleak Falls Barrow is just around the corner from there.” She smiled at Camilla, “Thank you,” she said. “Mara bless you for agreeing to help us,” replied Camilla as she started back towards the town. Käthe placed a hand on her hip, then suddenly remembered, “Oh! Camilla, I have something for you,” she said as she reached into one of her belt bags, walking towards her. She handed her the folded up piece of paper, “Sven, the bard at the inn, wanted to trick you into believing this letter was from Faendal.” Camilla’s brow furrowed with confusion as she reached out, taking the letter, “What are you talking about? What’s in the letter?” Her eyes widened in disbelief as her eyes read over the words, “Oh my! He wanted me to think Faendal wrote this?” Annoyed, she then tore up the letter, “Thank you for telling me the truth. Can you talk to Faendal as well? I’m sure he’ll want to thank you for standing up for him.” “Of course,” she replied, “Oh, and could you do me a favor while I’m gone?” “Certainly,” Camilla replied, “what can I…”, before she could finish, Käthe handed her the rabbit. “Can you watch him until I return?” Camilla smiled and giggled, looking at the rabbit in her arms, “Oh my, yes,” she said gleefully, “I’ll make sure he gets plenty to eat, as well.” She started talking to the rabbit as if he were a baby, as she walked back to the shop.

Käthe approached Faendal who was chopping wood near the mill. She took a seat on a nearby stump, watching him, and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think Camilla will be spending any more time with Sven,” she said studying her gloved fingers. He let the axe fall to his side and wiped his cheek with his sleeve, turning to face her he smiled from ear to ear. “I appreciate your help! Please take this,” the wood elf reached out to hand her a coin purse, “some gold I’ve saved up working at the mill.” She looked down at the coin purse then back at him. She frowned a little, knowing that he probably didn’t earn much money from chopping wood, and decided to make him a different proposition. “You keep your gold. You may need it for a ring, soon,” she said smiling at him. He blushed slightly looking at the ground, and smiled as he returned the purse to his pocket. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he replied. “You could help me with something, in return,” she said, “and Camilla would be very grateful, as well,” she smiled. He looked at her curiously, “What do you need?” “Farengar Secret-Fire, Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard, has asked me to retrieve the Dragonstone from Bleak Falls Barrow, a stone tablet that he believes contains a map of ancient dragon burial sites. He hopes this will help him understand how and why dragons are returning to Tamriel.” He tilted his head slightly, squinting at her as he listened with interest, “Go on…,” he said. “Well it just so happens the thieves who broke into Lucan’s shop are also hiding out up there. They stole his antique Golden Claw, and he’s offering me a gold reward for retrieving it.” He suddenly walked away, over to a nearby table, set the axe down, and picked up his hunting bow and steel arrows. He turned back around to face her, “Lead the way,” he said with a grin.

The air became colder as they hiked the path up the mountain. She took a deep breath through her nose feeling the energizing cold in her nostrils, and with a smile she exhaled a warm, cloud of steamy air. Snow began to fall and the icy wind was stinging her face, making her eyes tear up. She pulled her hood over her head and her brown face mask over her mouth and nose. She reached into one of her belt bags and pulled out a pair of chitin goggles, which were commonly worn by Dunmer on Solstheim to keep the ash out of their eyes. She fixed the goggles over her eyes as they approached the watchtower. She noticed the bandit leaning up against the tree first, and crouched down putting a hand out signaling Faendal to stop. She peered back at him over her left shoulder, and he nodded that he saw him as well. They pulled their bows from their backs and readied arrows. Käthe creeped forward to get a better view then took aim, nocking her arrow. “Be sure to pull your bow all the way back to get the most power out of your shot,” Faendal said in a low voice from behind. She centered her arrow on the bandit, took a breath, pulled back on the string, and then let the arrow fly as she exhaled. The bandit hit the ground, and another suddenly appeared at the entrance of the watchtower. She quickly nocked another arrow, took aim at the second bandit, and released. His body fell backwards into the watchtower, disappearing from view. As they approached the tower, they observed the body of the first bandit lying on the ground beneath the tree. She knelt down and with a tug, she pulled the single steel arrow from his neck. Faendal looked at her, his eyebrows slightly raised, “Nice shot.”

They stored their bows on their backs, panting, and stared at the giant frostbite spider lying on the floor in front of them. Faendal shivered, “Ugh…I hate spiders,” he said repulsed. “Get me down from here!” They both turned toward the voice, looking across the room. “Don’t leave me for Arkay’s sake,” yelled an angry Dunmer ensnared in a large, sticky cobweb. Recognizing by his attire that he was one of the bandits, she smirked and slowly walked towards him, one foot in front of the other like a cat on a fence. Faendal followed behind her, equally amused by the bandit’s predicament, “Sorry, we didn’t see you up there,” he said sarcastically with a smile. Käthe approached the bandit. “You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up,” he barked at her. She looked at him unimpressed, “where’s the Golden Claw?” His eyes lit up as if he saw an opportunity before him. A way out. “Yes, the claw! I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together! Help me down, and I’ll show you. You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden there.” Faendal shook his head at the bandit, “Hand over the claw first.” The Dunmer spit at Faendal, “Does it look like I can move, Bosmer! You have to cut me down, first.” Without saying a word, Käthe started cutting away at the webbing around him. “It’s coming lose,” he said, “I can feel it.” She continued cutting until finally the bandit was free and he fell to the floor in front of her. He looked up at her with a smirk on his face, and has he stood “You fool, wh-“, she quickly grabbed him by the side of his neck, pulled him towards her, and shoved her dagger into his chest. He cried out as he hit the floor before bleeding out. She reached down, “I’ll have that,” as she took the Golden Claw off his body. She then stepped over him to continue through the barrow. “Looks like you were the fool,” Faendal spoke to the corpse as he followed her out of the room.

They quickly made their way through the barrow and adjoining crypt, picking the draugr off left and right with their bows and exploiting the traps to their advantage. They suddenly rounded a corner, coming to double iron doors. They each pushed on a door, revealing a long, candlelit, stone corridor on the other side. Taking separate torches, they began walking down opposite sides of the corridor, examining the carvings in the stone. “They look like gods,” she remarked as she ran her fingers over the engraved stone, “surrounded by servants”. “They are gods,” replied Faendal turning around to look at her, “during the early First Era, animal worship was the predominant faith among the Nords. The deified animals were the hawk, bear, moth, whale, snake, fox, wolf, and the dragon.” Still holding his torch, he waved her over to the first carving on the right side of the corridor. “See the moths in this one? The moth is believed to represent Dibella, the Goddess of beauty.” He signaled for her to follow him as he continued down the corridor. “This bear. Tsun, the God of trials. The owl, Jhunal, the God of wisdom and knowledge.” When they approached the final carving before the door, Käthe thought the images on the wall looked familiar to her. “And this one”, she asked staring at it. Faendal held the torch up to the wall in front of them. “The dragon, Alduin, the World-Eater, son of Akatosh,” he said looking at the carving. She thought about the big black dragon she saw flying over the barrow, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. “How do you know all of this, Faendal?” She looked at him somewhat admiringly. He turned to face her and smiled, “What? You didn’t think I spent all of my time chopping wood for the mill, did you?” He laughed, “I enjoy filling my time with books, when I’m not working or hunting.” She smiled, “Or wooing Camilla Valerius.” He laughed, blushing, “Right.” They both walked over to the large, stone door. In the center of the door were three rings with pictures of animals on them. “A moth, an owl, and a bear,” she remarked, looking from top to bottom. Below the rings, appeared to be a keyhole in the shape of a dragon’s claw. She used the Golden Claw like a key and attempted to the open the door with it, but nothing happened. “Try turning the three rings,” suggested Faendal. She reached up and turned the inner ring, and the animal picture changed to a moth. “Ah,” he remarked, “try moth, bear, and owl.” She rotated the rings and tried the keyhole again, nothing. “Hmm,” he furrowed his brow, “what about owl, bear, and then moth?” She moved the rings again, inserted the Golden Claw again, but no luck. Faendal scratched his head while studying the door. She looked at the claw in her hand, turning it over, and noticed three small symbols on its palm. “Bear, moth, owl,” she muttered under her breath. Faendal looked at her, “What?” She looked up at the door, gesturing for him to move the rings, “bear, moth, owl,” she repeated. Faendal quickly turned the rings as she suggested, and when she inserted the claw the door finally opened. “Well done,” he said, “But how did you-“, she cut him off by holding up the claw, showing him the palm, smiling. “Of course,” he said, rolling his eyes.

They extinguished their torches, ascending the stairs into a dimly lit cavernous area, and a startled swarm of bats suddenly flew out past them from the shadows. They continued forward until they were in a large, open area of the cave with several waterfalls that, and steps that led up to a massive stone wall inscribed with ancient carvings. “Wow! Would you look at that,” Faendal gasped with amazement. As she climbed the stairs toward the wall, she heard an ancient chanting. “Do you hear that?” Faendal was looking around the cave as he followed her up the stairs, “Hear what?” She assumed by his response that he couldn’t hear the chanting, and approached the large stone wall. She found herself drawn to the centermost etching, and she felt like she might be seeing things when there appeared to be some sort of light illuminating the ancient inscription. She reached out her hand to touch the wall and the chanting suddenly ceased. “Fus,” she whispered to herself, and the light from the word faded away. “I wonder what it says,” said Faendal as he stood next to her in front of the wall. “Here lies the guardian. Keeper of Dragonstone. And a force of unending. Rage and darkness,” she read from the wall. “H-how did you know that?” Faendal looked at her in disbelief. She faced him with a look of confusion on her face, “I don’t know.” Suddenly the stone lid of the sarcophagus behind them broke open, and a scary-looking draugr with a pointy-horned helmet stepped out of it with a battleaxe in hand. They pulled their bows and began assailing him with arrows. The draugr shouted at them, releasing a gust of wind in their direction that nearly cost them their footing. “Incredible,” said Faendal, as he caught his bearings. The draugr hurried over towards him, then fell suddenly to the floor from an arrow to the side of his head. “Thanks,” said Faendal, looking over at her with relief. “Let’s just…get out of here,” she replied, putting her bow on her back.

 “I have it,” she said to Lucan as she removed her hood, “I have the claw,” and she set it upon the counter. Lucan grabbed it without hesitation, “You found it! Ha ha ha! There it is! Strange…it seems smaller than I remembered. Funny thing, huh?” Käthe looked at Camilla and said, “I couldn’t have done it without Faendal. He is quite the warrior and scholar.” Camilla looked at Faendal with surprise, “Faendal! You went into the barrow and retrieved the claw for Lucan…for…me?” Faendal blushed and stuttered, “Well…I….well…I didn’t do all of the work!” Camilla stood up from her chair and walked over to him with a smile on her face. She took Faendal’s hands in hers, and looked him in the eyes. “I’m going for a walk, Lucan, to gather some herbs. I’ll be back later,” she said without breaking her gaze. “Fine, fine,” replied Lucan, distracted by his Golden Claw. Camilla led Faendal by his hand out of the shop. “Until next time,” Faendal said to Käthe with a smile, as Camilla led him out of the shop by his hand. She nodded and smiled back at him as she situated the rabbit in the satchel. She stepped outside behind them and walked down past Alvor’s house, then stopped to look up the barrow once more. She was trying to wrap her head around the dragon, the carvings, and the word written in the language she didn’t even know. She sighed and turned around, catching a glimpse of Camilla kissing Faendal in front of his house and whispering into his ear, then Faendal opened the door and they disappeared inside. For the first time in a long time, she felt loneliness.


	5. Dragon Rising

When she approached the court wizard’s quarters, she could see that Farengar was talking with a petite, hooded person leaning over a book on the table. She decided to hang back in the doorway to see what she could learn from their conversation. “You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the name with other later texts,” explained Farengar. “Good. I’m glad that you’re making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers,” said the mysterious stranger. “Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I’m now able to devote most of my time to this research,” he replied. “Time is running, Farengar, don’t forget. This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back,” warned the stranger. “Yes, yes. Don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable…Now, let me show you something else I found…very intriguing…I think your employers may be interested as well,” said Farengar turning away to fetch something from his cupboard.

“You have a visitor,” said the stranger looking directly at Käthe. Farengar turned around to see who it was, “Hmm? Ah, yes, the Jarl’s protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn’t die, it seems,” he addressed her. Käthe cleared her throat and walked right up to the table over which the stranger was leaning, and set her pack down. She then pulled the Dragonstone out of it and set it on the table, looking up at Farengar for approval. “Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. My…associate here should be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me,” he said looking at the mysterious woman, “So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.” The mysterious woman peered up at her from underneath her hood, “You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work,” she turned back to Farengar, “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered-“

“Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once,” panted Irileth in the doorway, “A dragon’s been sighted nearby. You should come, too,” she said looking at Käthe. She turned to look at the mysterious woman again, but she was nowhere to be found. “A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?” The court wizard was as excited as a child receiving a gift. “I’d take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decided to attack Whiterun, I don’t know if we can stop it. Let’s go,” said Irileth. Käthe followed them up the stairs where Jarl Balgruuf was speaking to one of the guards. Proventus was leaned over a table nearby, studying a sprawled out map marked with little red and blue flags.

“Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?” “Yes, my lord,” replied the guard. “Tell him what you told me. About the dragon,” Irileth said to the guard. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast…faster than anything I’ve ever seen,” he said. The Jarl looked concerned, “what did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?” “No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life...I thought it would come after me for sure.” The Jarl traded glances with Irileth then addressed the guard, “Good work, son. We’ll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.” The guard bowed his head, then left for the barracks. “Irileth, you’d better gather some guardsmen and get down there,” said Balgruuf. “I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate,” she replied confidently. He nodded in approval, “Good. Don’t fail me.” He then turned to Käthe, “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here.” She bowed her head, “It will be done.”

She could smell and see the smoke as she approached the watchtower. Part of it had crumbled, and most of the area was still actively burning. She remembered images of Helgen, and a feeling of apprehension washed over her. Irileth and the guardsmen arrived moments later. “No sign of any dragons right now,” said Irileth, “but it sure looks like one’s been here. I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out, and look for survivors. We need to know what we’re dealing with.” She set the satchel down behind some rocks, “It’s not safe. I will be back very soon,” she said to the rabbit. As she stood up to head off for the watchtower, the rabbit poked his nose out of the satchel, but remained inside.

She walked near the watchtower watching and listening for any signs of the dragon. Her heart sank when she came across the bodies of two guards burning in the grass. “Hold! Get back! He’s still here somewhere,” she heard one of the guards declare. She looked to the south at the mountains, and saw something moving towards them in the sky. One of the guards yelled out, “Talos save us! It’s a dragon!” She squinted her eyes trying to see, and as the figure grew nearer, they widened in terror. A giant white dragon was flying directly towards them at incredible speed. She readied her bow and nocked an arrow, taking aim for the dragon. The dragon swooped down low to the ground, breathing fire across the already burning plain. She had taken numerous shots at the dragon, when suddenly he landed directly in front of her, shaking the ground underneath her feet. “You are brave,” boomed the dragon, “Bahlaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor.” Käthe quickly stored her bow on her back and unsheathed her daggers. She looked up at the dragon defiantly, “Zu’u los ni faas,” she said just loud enough for the two of them to hear. The dragon appeared just as surprised as she was by what she had said. She began to dance around its head with her daggers, leaping and twirling with swift grace. “Brit grah,” the dragon thundered. Käthe then seized an opportunity, leaping up onto the back of the dragon’s head, and holding on to one his horns, she continued stabbing and slashing with her other dagger. Finally, the dragon could fight no more, and succumbed to its wounds. He threw his head up high in the air, arching his back, “Dovahkin? No!!” His head hit the ground with a heavy thud, and she rolled forward to the ground. As soon as she stood up and turned around to face the defeated dragon, his body started glowing and abruptly burst into flames before her eyes. As she took a step back, she suddenly felt an intense gust of burning wind emanating from the dragon and washing over her. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her skin felt hot, as if burning from the sun, but she felt completely recharged as if she’d just awoken from a full night’s rest. She felt a sense of inner peace in those few seconds, and then the fire burned out leaving only a skeleton of what once was a dragon.

“I can’t believe it! You’re…Dragonborn!” She turned and looked at the guard, confused, “Dragonborn? What do you mean?” The guard took a step toward her, “In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?” She looked back at the giant skeleton on the ground in front of her, “I don’t know what just happened to me.” “There’s only one way to find out,” said the guard, “Try to Shout…that would prove it. According the oldest legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training, the way the dragons do.” She reflected on the guard’s words for a moment, in shock from everything that had happened. All of the images from the last week swirled around in her head, and she felt overwhelmed with emotion and confusion. A pressure grew in her chest, and she felt like she needed to scream. She turned to the face the monstrous skeleton once more, and remembered the burning woman holding her infant in Helgen. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she cried out, ‘FUS!!” The heavy bones of the dragon shifted backwards several feet from the force of her Shout, and a nearby guard suddenly found himself on his back yards away. Her eyes widened and she clasped her hand over her mouth in disbelief. In contrast to how she felt, the guards were completely overjoyed. “That was shouting! What you just did!” “You really are Dragonborn!” “Dragonborn! It is an honor to stand before you!”

Irileth quickly disbanded the group of guards, ordering them to return to their duties. She approached Käthe while staring at the heaping pile of bones in front of them. “That was the hairiest fight I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in more than a few. I don’t know about this ‘Dragonborn’ business, but I’m sure glad you’re with us.” She looked over at Irileth, unsure of what to say. “You’d better get back to Whiterun. The Jarl will want to know what happened here.” She nodded at Irileth, and started walking back to the city, picking up her satchel and feeling relief when she saw the rabbit was still there. She had almost reached the top of the stairs to Dragonsreach, when there was an incredible thundering sound and seemed to rattle the entire city. “DOVAHKHIN!” She looked up at the sky then east to the mountains, and noted that the weather was calm and clear with no signs of any approaching storms. She knew right then that the sound had something to do with her dragon encounter…she just didn’t know what.


	6. The Way of The Voice

Proventus met her at the top of the stairs, “Good! You’re finally here. The Jarl has been waiting for you.” As she followed him past the fire pit and dining tables, she could hear Balgruuf conversing with his brother, Hrongar, a beast of a man. “You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards…” Hrongar turned to Käthe as she was coming up the stairs, “We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you,” he said with his thick Nord accent. The Jarl addressed her eagerly, “So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?” She nodded at him, “The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon.” Balgruuf smiled, “I knew I could count on Irileth, but there must be more than that.” She looked at her feet slightly embarrassed and unsure of how to say it. “When…” the paused then cleared her throat, “when the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it.” She looked up to meet the Jarl’s gaze. He was starting at her with amazement. “So it’s true! The Greybeards really were summoning you!” She wrinkled her brow, “The…Greybeards?” “Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World,” said Balgruuf. Hrongar butted in, “Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to the city? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in…centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora.” “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it,” Balgruuf told her. “If they think you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue?  You’d better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards, it’s a tremendous honor.” She bowed her head and turned to leave, “one more thing, Dragonborn,” the Jarl called after her. She turned to face him. “You’ve done a great deed for me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant.” She bowed her head again, and Proventus presented her with a beautiful, silver pendant with the hold’s sigil, a mare, engraved on it. “We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn.”

She took a seat at a corner table away from everyone else. She was tired of talking to people, and just wanted some food and rest before setting out again the next morning. An attractive Redguard woman in a low-cut dress with a sultry voice approached her, “You want a drink?” She ordered a salmon steak, baked potatoes, some grilled leaks, and a bottle of Honingbrew Mead to wash it all down. While waiting on her food she approached the innkeeper, a red-headed Nord named Hulda, and paid her 10 gold for a room. “I’ll show you to your room,” said Hulda, “Right this way.” She followed her to the back of the inn and up the stairs. The room was a suite with a double bed, washbasin, and balcony seating area overlooking the inn’s main floor. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she said. “Actually, can you have my food sent up here? I’d like be alone.” Hulda smiled at her, “Of course. Whatever you need.”

After she ate, she cleaned herself up at the washbasin in her room, and washed her hair. She longed for a real bath, but knew it may be some time before she ever had one. That was a luxury. The rabbit was sitting on the bed, watching her, and eating a tasty carrot. She had spent some time at the tanning rack during her brief stay in the city, and changed into a shift she had made to sleep in. The long, black sleeveless shift was made of linen from the wraps she acquired in Bleakfalls Barrow, and a black dye made from nightshade. There was a brown leather cord belt and matching leather sandals that could be worn with it if she had to go outside. There was no need for it then, but she had also crafted a beautiful, wolf fur shawl to wear over the shift if it was cold. She had it stored away in her pack for the time being. She took seat with her legs crossed on the bed with her back to the pillows. The rabbit turned around to face her, and had started on some self-grooming himself. She smiled at the rabbit as she started fashioning two sections of her hair into maiden braids and pinned them around the crown of her head, leaving the rest to flow down over her shoulders and chest. “I’m going to have to name you one of these days, you know,” she said to the rabbit. His nose and whiskers twitched. She pulled the covers out from under her, then stretched out in the bed and blew out the candle on the nightstand. “Goodnight, rabbit,” she said.

The boat ride from Whiterun had taken roughly six hours, and she arrived in Ivarstead late morning. She had debated purchasing one of the black horses from the stables outside Whiterun, but she wasn’t sure if it would be any faster and it would have cost a thousand gold. As she approached the northern bridge over the Treva, she overheard a Bosmer and a Nord talking. “On your way up the 7,000 Steps again, Klimmek?” “Not today,” replied the Nord, “I’m just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn’t safe.” “Aren’t the Greybeards expecting some supplies?” “Honestly, I’m not certain,” said the Nord, “I’ve yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day.” The two went their separate ways, but Klimmek stopped when he saw her standing there. “On your way to High Hrothgar?” “I am,” she replied, “Anything I should watch out for during the climb?” Klimmek ran his fingers through his beard, “Well, there’s the occasional wolf pack or stray, but that’s all I’ve ever had to deal with. Shouldn’t be a problem for the likes of you. Other than that, watch your footing. In these wintry conditions, the stairs can be treacherous.” She nodded in understanding, “Anything you can tell me about High Hrothgar?” He shifted the weight in his feet and folded his arms over his chest, “I’ve been to the monastery many times, but I’ve never even laid eyes on one of the Greybeards. Not that I’d care to,” he chuckled, “Being masters of the Thu’um, they could kill you by uttering a single word…well…not that they would. They seem peaceful, but I wouldn’t want to provoke them.” She smiled at him, “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Well, time to gather more supplies, I guess. Be sure to visit the ten wayshrines along the way.” “Thanks,” she waved as she set off across the bridge.

She crossed the bridge and made her way up the first set of steps to the first wayshrine. There was a bowl at the base of it that contained several amulets on leather cords that appeared to be totems of The 7,000 Steps. She picked one up and wrapped it around her wrist as she read the etched tablet.

> _Emblem I – Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus. Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs. For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land._

As she turned to continue up the steps, she thought of the Skaal when she reflected on the words “True Needs”. The Skaal lived simple lives and only hunted and took from the land what they needed. She passed a hunter along the way who warned her to keep an eye out for wolves on the way to the monastery. She thanked him as she continued on her way. She stopped at the second wayshrine to catch her breath, which was starting to fog in front of her face with the colder air.

> _Emblem II – Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus. The Dragons presided over the crawling masses. Men were weak then, and had no Voice._

As she ascended the steps, the wind picked up and the snow began to fall rapidly. She gradually found herself in a landscape blanketed in white. She encountered several wolves on the path, but they paid her no mind. Her mouth was getting dry and her face was feeling slightly numb from the cold, so she stopped at the third wayshrine to take several swigs of water, wrap up in her fur food, and put her face mask and goggles on.

> _Emblem III – The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times. Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices. But the dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts._

She came upon a Nord woman sitting cross-legged in the snow in front of the fourth wayshrine. “Well met,” she greeted the woman not wishing to startle her. “Ay,” the woman replied. “Who are you?” The woman looked up at her and replied, “Just a pilgrim. I’d prefer to leave it at that, if you don’t mind.” Käthe nodded at her, “What are you doing up here?” “Walking The Steps. Meditating on the emblems. I make this trip every few years,” said the pilgrim. “Did you hear the Greybeards call ‘Dovakhin’?” The pilgrim smiled up at her, “I was just outside of Ivarstead when it happened. It’s an exciting moment. Nothing like this has happened in centuries.” Käthe took a moment to read the etched tablet.

> _Emblem IV – Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man. Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue._

“Farewell,” she said to the pilgrim as she walked away, “stay safe.” “And you, as well,” the woman replied. She made it up several more flights of steps and came around a corner when something ahead caught her eye. Movement. She crouched down and came up behind a rock to get a better look. It was large and white. A snow bear? No, too tall, and it moved like a man. She then realized it was a frost troll, and decided to take it out before it noticed her. She pulled out her bow and nocked an arrow, taking aim for the troll, and let the arrow fly. It hit the troll, and he jumped down from the ledge. He disappeared for a moment, before she caught sight of him again running towards her. She quickly nocked another arrow and hit him again. He jumped up and down wildly, banging his fists on the ground before continuing towards her. She hit him again, and he fell forward onto his hands. She nocked one more arrow, pulled back on the string, and sent the arrow into his head. She sighed with relief and fatigue, breathing heavy. She approached the dead troll, and knelt down to draw a sample of its blood. Troll’s blood was ironically reputed both for its regenerative and toxic effects, and when combined with an ablative agent, it could be used to craft healing potions or poisons. She continued walking a short distance, before stopping at the fifth wayshrine.

> _Emblem V – Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world. Proving for all that their Voice too was strong. Although their sacrifices were many-fold._

Her stomach grumbled, and her teeth were chattering. She decided to take shelter briefly in a nearby alcove. She built a small fire with some kindling and hanging moss, and added a piece of deadwood she’d foraged from nearby. She boiled some water from her waterskin to brew some lavender tea, then warmed up some vegetable soup and some horker loaf with her cooking pot. She opened her satchel to check on her rabbit friend, who was hunkered down to keep warm with his ears pinned back. “You hungry?” He lifted his head out of the satchel slightly, and she fed him some tasty carrot and gave him some water out of her then empty cup. The fire, food, and tea warmed her bones, and she felt rejuvenated, ready to continue her journey. She put out the fire with snow, and resumed her hike, stopping by the sixth wayshrine along the way.

> _Emblem VI – With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer. Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice. Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World._

She felt relieved and reassured that she was close to the monastery when she came to the seventh and eighth wayshrines. The air was getting dangerously thin; there was an immense pressure in her chest as she breathed rapidly and hard, and her legs felt weak and heavy. It was taking everything she had to continue.

> _Emblem VII – The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled. Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation. To understand how Strong Voices could fail._
> 
> _Emblem VIII – Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned. The 17 disputants could not shout Him down. Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World._

As she continued further, moving more slowly from exhaustion, she saw the tower as she rounded a corner. She suddenly caught a second wind at the sight of the massive monastery, and approached the ninth wayshrine, which was guarded by a giant statue of Talos.

> _Emblem IX – For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name. Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and name him Dovakhin._

She approached the base of the monastery, staring up at it in awe. She made her way over to the tenth and final wayshrine. There was another bowl, empty this time. She unwrapped the amulet from around her wrist and set it in the bowl, then read the etched tablet.

> _Emblem X – The Voice is worship. Follow the Inner Path. Speak only in True Need._

She felt enlightened and at peace reading those words, and knew they would stay with her forever. She climbed the stairs to the monastery and nervously stood before the doors. She turned to look back at the path she had taken, and told herself there was no turning back.

She entered the enormous monastery made of stone. The inside was still moderately chilly, but nowhere near as cold as the harsh weather outside. It was quiet and dimly lit, illuminated and heated only by braziers and candles placed throughout the halls. She removed her goggles and facemask, and pulled her hood from her head. She removed her backpack and set it on the floor, then leaned her walking stick up against the wall next to it. She took the rabbit from the satchel and placed him on the floor. He looked up at her and stayed close to her feet as she walked further into the monastery. She suddenly realized she was sharing the room with four bearded men in long, hooded grey robes. As she progressed further, cautiously, one of the men approached her.

“So…a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.” She could tell by his voice that he was an older man, and she could feel the other three watching her from afar. “You call me Dragonborn,” she said to him, “What does it mean?” The old man was equally as cautious, “First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice,” he said. She stared at him blankly and looked to the other three for any sign of reaction. She shook her head at him, remembering the guard when she first shouted at the watchtower. “Do not be afraid,” he reassured her, “Your shout will not harm us.” She was hesitant, and suddenly worried that she had perhaps forgotten how. The first time felt almost accidental, and she wasn’t sure if it was something she could fully control. She decided that testing the patience of these men may not be wise, and began to concentrate on the word she learned in Bleak Falls Barrow. She balled up her fists at her sides, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke the word loudly. “FUS!” She opened her eyes, cringing at the four men. There were pots and woven baskets scattered all over the floor, but the men appeared only mildly fazed by her shout.

“Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar,” the man said as he approached her again. “I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards,” he continued, “Now, tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?” “I…I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn,” she replied nervously. He then spoke to her in a more gentle voice, “We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you.” She looked at him curiously, “You mean…I’m not the first Dragonborn?” He shook his head, “You are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age…that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say.” She eased up a little, and lifted her chin slightly. “I’m ready to learn,” she said more confidently. He nodded and smiled at her with kindness before turning to walk towards the center of the room.

“Without training,” he lectured, “you have already taken the first steps toward projecting your Voice into a Thu’um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn,” she followed him into the large room and took her place in the center. “When you shout,” he continued, “you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Learning a Word of Power is only the first step…you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well…that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly. As part of your training, we will allow you to tap into our understanding of Words of Power as we feel you are ready.”

They trained with her into the night. Master Einarth taught her “Ro”, another part of the Unrelenting Force Shout, which meant “Balance”, and taught her to combine it with “Fus” for a more powerful Shout. Master Borri trained with her outside in the courtyard, and taught her “Wuld” which meant “Whirlwind”. This Word of Power gave her the ability to spring forward at unbelievable speed. “Your quick mastery of a new Thu’um is…astonishing,” said Arngeir approaching her in the courtyard, “I’d heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself…” She bowed her head at him slightly, “Thank you…what’s next?” “You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return.” As he turned to walk away, she stopped him, “Wait…I have many questions,” she spoke like an eager child. “Of course,” he said turning around to face her. “Why are the dragons returning? Does it have something to do with me?” “No doubt,” he replied, “The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear.” She wasn’t buying it, and she folded her arms over her chest. “Sure there’s more you can tell me,” she said more insistent. “There is indeed much that we know that you do not. That does not mean that you are ready to understand it. Do not let your easy mastery of the Voice tempt you into arrogance of power that has been the downfall of many Dragonborn before you.” “What is the Way of the Voice?” “The Voice was a gift of the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time,” he replied. “Kynareth,” she muttered. “Yes,” he said, “She gave the mortals the ability to speak as dragons do. Although this gift has often been misused, the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth’s domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance.” She bowed her head to him again, “I will try to follow the Way of the Voice.” He bowed his head to her in return, “Sky above, Voice within”.

She made her way back down the mountain the following morning. Master Wulfgar had been kind enough to prepare a bed for her in the south wing of the monestary, and she was feeling well-rested after a night’s sleep. She came into Ivarstead mid-morning, and was greeted by a man and a woman wearing strange robes and masks. “You there! You’re the one they call Dragonborn?” She did not know who these people were, and didn’t want to draw unwanted attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said dismissively. “Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver!” The woman yelled at her. “We know you are the False Dragonborn! You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn’s return. He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart! When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!” Without warning, the two strangers drew blade and spell, and attacked. The town’s guards were also quick to react, and Käthe pulled her bow and began firing shots at the assassins. The fight was over within a minute, and she approached the body of the woman, searching her corpse for anything that might explain what was going on. There was a folded piece of paper in one of her pockets, and she picked it up to examine its contents.

> Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Käthe Hvitkald before she reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.


	7. Dragonborn

She arrived at the docks in Windhelm late that night, and the mariners were all huddled around a brazier keeping warm, swapping stories, and sharing some mead. She approached a tall Nord with blonde hair whom she’d overheard one of the men call ‘Captain’. “Are you the captain of the Northern Maiden?” He looked down at her suspiciously, taking a swig of mead, “Sure. Yeah. That’s me. Gjalund Salt-Sage. Why? Who sent you?” She pulled her hood from her head so he could see her face in full, and he suddenly looked surprised by her beauty. “I was attacked by some cultists who came here on your ship,” she awaited his explanation with her hand on her hip. “N-now…hold on! That wasn’t my fault, I-“, he stumbled over his words, “I didn’t know they were going to attack anybody. I don’t even know how I got here!” She wrinkled her brow, squinting at him, “How can you not know how you got here? You sailed here, right?” He looked scared and confused, “It’s hard to explain…I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then….The next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone. That’s not right, losing whole days like that,” he said frantically. She thought he’d gone completely mad, and then he said it. “There’s been something strange happening on Solstheim for a while, but after this…I’m done. I’m not going back to Solstheim.” She lifted her chin up in the air, as if she’d just heard a criminal give away his guilt. “Yes you are,” she said coolly, “You’re taking me to Solstheim.” His eyes widened and he moved closer to her as he stared down at her in disbelief, “Have you even been listening to me? I’m not going back there!” She was beyond the point of exhaustion after her eight-hour boat ride from Ivarstead. Her mouth formed a frown and her nostrils flared, and she glared up at him as she stepped towards him until they were only inches apart. “People are trying to kill me,” she said in a low voice, “I’m not taking no for an answer.” He backed away from her as if waking up from a trance, “Hold on, now. I’m just a simple sailor. I never wanted to get mixed up in any of this. Alright, I’ll take you. But we leave immediately.” He motioned for his two crewman to ready the ship for sailing. “We leave for Solstheim…now,” he told them

“Hold still,” he said smiling and chuckling, “it will smear.” He reached over and dipped his smallest finger on his right hand into the indigo-colored paint in the ramekin next to him. “Are you sure about this?” She asked, looking at him with uncertainty and nervousness. The firelight flickered on their faces as they sat cross-legged on the floor next to the fire pit. He looked up at her from the bowl and held her gaze for a moment, searching her eyes. She looked down at her feet, embarrassed. He reached out and lifted her chin with his fingers, and her eyes met his again. “I’ve never been surer of anything,” he said with a serious expression. “I want to stand by your side until we return to the All-Maker…if you’ll have me,” he said, moving his hand to caress her right cheek. “Together,” she said smiling at him, her eyes watered as she reached up to cover his hand with hers. He smiled back at her, “Together,” he replied as he wiped a single tear from her cheek with his thumb. She leaned forward, and his lips met hers halfway. His stout bottom lip pulling hers in; his lips were warm and slightly chapped from the cold as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. His full beard brushed against her nose and chin, and he exhaled above her upper lip. Their lips parted simultaneously, and her eyes remained closed as she savored the moment. He smiled, admiring her, then brought his finger to the left side of her face and with delicate strokes drew the markings on her cheek and over her brow. When he was done, he wiped his finger with a wet cloth, smiling proudly. She opened her eyes, looking at him, “Does it look alright?” His eyes met hers, “It’s perfect,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her right cheek.

A hand gently shook her shoulder, startling her and the rabbit sleeping against her chest awake. “What- what is it?” She said panicked, thinking perhaps they’d wrecked. “We’re here, miss,” said the crewman looking down at her and handing her some juniper tea. She put her hand to her forehead then reached out and to take the tea, “Oh…thank you,” she said dryly.  She yawned, and stretched her arms behind her head then looked down at rabbit, “You can walk around while we’re in town, but once we get going you’re back in the satchel.” He sat up on his hind legs, looking up at her, and twitched his nose and whiskers. She fed him a tasty carrot, and sipped on her juniper tea as they approached the island from the southwest. She ate some apple, goat cheese, and a honey nut treat, then finished off the last of her water. She’d been so tired in Windhelm that she’d forgotten to refill prior to boarding. Now she was surrounded by saltwater, and would either have to buy more or obtain it inland. She put on her backpack and used her walking stick to stand up.  She then made her way to the front of the ship as they approached the docks. “Well, here we are. Raven Rock. Can’t say I’m all that glad to see it again,” said Gjalund, unenthusiastically. He looked at her, “Good luck. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on around here.”

It was early in the afternoon, and an older, well-dressed Dunmer who had been waiting on the dock, boarded the vessel as soon as they pulled up. “I’m Adril Arano, Second Councilor of Raven Rock, I don’t recognize you,” he said as he approached her, “so I’ll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions.” He was formal, and well-spoken, so she assumed he was someone of great importance to the town. “My name is Käthe Hvitkald. I’m native to the Skaal, though it has been many years since I left the island. I’ve returned looking for someone named Miraak. Do you know him?” He looked at her curiously, “Hvitkald? As in Hvitkald Peak?” “Yes,” she said, “my great-grandfather was a mountaineer and discovered Hvitkald Peak sometime near the end of the Third Era, hence its name.” “I see,” he said, “Well, just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you’re here you will be expected to abide by our laws. Any questions?” “Do you know who Miraak is?” “I…” he appeared confused, “I’m unsure. I swear I know the name, but I cannot place it,” he said scratching his head. “Can you tell me anything about him?” “I don’t think so,” he looked at her, struggling to remember, “I’m not…the name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think.” he motioned to the All-Maker stone west of the docks. “Thank you,” she said and she stepped off the ship and onto the dock, and made her way into the town.

As she approached the Earth Stone, she noticed it was glowing and emanating a strange green light that she’d never seen before, and there were many Dunmer building…something…around it. When she asked around what they were building she noticed that every single one of them appeared to be in a trance-like state, repeating some sort of chant. “Here in his shrine,” said one. “That they have forgotten,” said another. “I’m not going to get any information out of these people,” she said to herself turning around every which way to look at them. Her eyes caught glimpse of a Dunmer who was not building or chanting. He was just standing there, watching the other elves, while stroking his chin in thought. He took noticed of her as she approached him, “You there…You don’t seem to be in quite the same state as the others here,” he said, “Very interesting. May I ask what it is you’re doing here?” “I’m looking for someone…named Miraak,” she replied. “Miraak…Miraak…” he said to himself, “It sounds familiar, but I cannot quite place…Oh, what. I recall,” he seemed to be working something out in his head and talking to her simultaneously, “But that makes very little sense. Miraak’s been dead for thousands of years.” She raised an eyebrow at him, confused, “So…what does that mean?” “I’m not sure,” he said, “but it is fascinating, isn’t it? Perhaps it has some relation to what’s going on here. Quite unexpected. I’m afraid I can’t give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak’s toward the center of the island. If I were you, I’d look there.”

She did some trading in the market before setting out for the Temple. She tucked the rabbit away in the satchel and took the northern path by the mine out of town and made her way north. There was something she wanted to do first. Something she had always wanted to do, but never got the chance. The lodge was still there, cobwebbed and unkempt, but still standing. It had long been abandoned. After all, she had no family remaining on the island, no heirs. She tried the door, but it was locked, and she didn’t have the key. She had no idea what her father had even done with it. It didn’t matter, anyway. She made her way around the side of the lodge, and huffed her way up the mountainside. She hooked a left at the old dwemer elevator, and stopped. She ran her walking stick through the straps of her back, took out some hide rope and a pickaxe, and started climbing. After some time and a few close calls, she made her way to the peak. Her great grandfather’s peak. Her peak. She drank from her waterskin as she stared out at the burning Red Mountain on the horizon. She felt whole and complete, and for the first time in a very long time she felt…home.

She was off course. Way off course. A blizzard in the northeast and an ash storm from the southwest had converged and brought her too far south.  She was just southwest of the Ashfallow Citadel when she came upon two reavers camping by the river. She crouched down and equipped her bow, deciding she would take them down before they saw her. She pulled string and launched an arrow into the neck of the reaver leaned up against a tree. The other reaver jumped up with his sword ready and started running towards her. She quickly nocked another arrow, taking aim for his head, and sunk the arrow in between his eyes. He hit the ground with a thud. She pilfered through their pockets and the chest at their camp, before continuing on her way. She would take the coast around and head up to the Beast Stone, then make her way to the Temple from there.

As she walked along the coastline, she passed the old Dwemer ruin, no doubt infested with reavers by then. She kept her head down and moved quickly to avoid being noticed. Up ahead on the coast she saw several people hanging around a campsite. As she moved closer, she could see that they weren’t reavers, but a small group of Nords. She approached the camp just as a man and woman were arguing back and forth about what do and whether or not the others were ready for something. Suddenly she stopped when she caught sight of a dark-haired Nord chopping wood on the other side of the fire. His hair was as black as a werewolf’s pelt, and what was long enough was pulled into a small ponytail on the back of his head. He was wearing fur armor, not like the Skaal’s, underneath a fur travel cloak made from snowy sabre cat pelt, with matching fur shoes and bracers, and had a magnificent, leather-gripped Nordic greatsword sheathed on his back. As he stood up and set the axe down, he turned around and her heart skipped a beat. His face had aged some, and he still had the thick, black beard. Over his left brow and cheek was the same indigo marking, only faded from time. She felt her breath quicken and her heart beat faster. He walked across the camp and took a seat on a stump, and took a swig from his waterskin, wiping his mouth on his sleeve afterward. She passed in between the arguing couple and walked right over to him. He looked up at her with no hint of recognition on his face, “Sorry, friend. I can’t make you anything out here. I need to get back to my anvil. I tried hitting the hammer against the stump next to my tent, but iron needs iron, and I don’t even want to think about what those…things…have done with my fires.” At first she didn’t understand why he didn’t recognize her, but then she realized she was still wearing her goggles, face mask, and hood, so he couldn’t see her face at all. She was about to unveil her identity to him, but the woman who she’d overheard arguing earlier suddenly summoned everyone together. ‘Hey! You lazy milk-drinkers! Get over here!” He stood up from the stump, “Apologies,” he said as he squeezed passed her to gather with the others around the fire. The woman continued with her speech once she had their attention, “I know you’re all starting to settle in here, and keep up the fat lives you got used to up in the hall. But that isn’t our way! Now let’s get up there and kill us some Rieklings!” And just like that, they readied their weapons and made for the Mead Hall. She shook her head and sighed, “Might as well,” she said to herself under her breath, and pulled out her bow.

He couldn’t help but notice her as they ran alongside one another to Thirsk. She was half a foot shorter than him, but still tall and solidly built. He wondered what she looked like under the hood, mask, and goggles, and found himself remembering a girl from his past, wild in spirit, but the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He quickly dismissed those memories with a troubled brow as he turned his attention back to the task at hand. The six of them made quick work of the Rieklings guarding the outside of the Hall. It was a hairy battle inside and the others seemed to go down a lot easier than the two of them. She kept her distance, knocking down one Riekling after the other with her bow. Only the Chief remained, and she saw him running towards him with his greatsword ready. With one giant swing, he cut the Riekling Chief down, and the sight of him doing this, made her ears and neck tingle. They were all panting and trying to catch their breath, and she put some distance between her and the others to untie her goggles and pull off her face mask. As he was walking back to the stairs to rejoin the others he saw her pull the hood from her head revealing her long, ash blonde hair that fell just between her shoulder blades, and when she turned around he saw her face. His lips parted, losing his breath for a second, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Her skin was fair, and her cheeks were peachy and flushed from battle. Her sage green eyes twinkled with the reflection of the fire pit behind him. She was wiping her forehead with the scarf from her neck, and he could make out the faint remnants of the familiar marking around her left eye. Her hair was fine and shiny, and he followed it down from the braids atop her head to her breasts.  His eyes wandered to her exposed neck which was adorned with her mother’s amulet that fell just below her clavicles, and he got lost in the rise and fall of her chest. “Käthe,” he said as if he had seen a ghost. She looked at him suddenly when she heard her name, and her hand holding her scarf dropped to her side. She smiled at him, “Hello, Halbarn.”

He started walking up the stairs towards her, when Bujold interrupted their reunion…again. “Ah! That was almost…exhilarating. How are you feeling?” She asked, approaching her. Käthe turned her attention to Bujold, “That was easy,” she replied. “Good to hear! In fact,” said Bujold, “that’s just the spirit I’ll need from my second. Do you want to come with me?” Käthe’s eyes flashed over to Halbarn then back at her, “Your what?” “My second! If we’re going to take up residence here again, I need a witness and, well, you see the kind of horker-brains I deal with around here. What do you say?” Käthe bit her tongue, because it was Bujold’s fault they were in this situation and she knew Halbarn wasn’t a ‘horker-brain’. “Where are you going?” “To Hrothmund’s Barrow. I need to get his blessing again before we take up residence here.” She looked over at Halbarn who nodded at her to accept. “Sure, “she finally told Bujold. “Then let’s not waste any time. I’ll meet you at the Barrow,” she said on her way out of the Hall. Halbarn walked up the stairs and stood before her. “What about- she started to say to him, but he cut her off, “Don’t worry about me. You and Bujold should get up to the Barrow. I’ll see you when you return,” he smiled at her, reassuringly and just happy to finally see her again after all those years.

It was midnight when she made it back to Thirsk. When she walked in, there was no one to be found. The Hall had been put back together, and the others had prepared a feast, but they were gone. Then she remembered that the Wind Stone was giving off the same green light as the Earth Stone in Raven Rock. She ran out of the Hall and up the hill to the Wind Stone, and her heart sank. She ran over to Halbarn who was lifting rocks and carrying them over to the Stone. She got in front of him and grabbed him by his shoulders, “Halbarn?” He continued reciting the same strange chant that she’d heard before. She shook him by shoulders, “Wake up!” He pushed passed her, carrying the rocks to the Shrine. She then recalled that the Dunmer digging at the Earth Stone had resumed their normal day-to-day functions once the night was over, and had no recollection of what had happened. She sighed and decided to return to the Hall and eat something then sleep, and hoped that he would be back to normal by morning.

She slept roughly seven hours before she was awoken by the sounds of voices coming from the main hall. She got up, stretched, and pulled on her shawl. The rabbit looked up, sleepily, then nuzzled back down into a ball on the bed. As she stood in the entryway, looking out into the main hall, she caught sight of Halbarn leaned over the cooking spit. He looked up to see her, their eyes met, and they both smiled. She retreated back into the sleeping quarters then he set the spoon down into the cooking pot and went to her. She was standing there fidgeting nervously with her fingers in front of her when he entered the room. There was a brief pause as they looked at one another, then they walked towards each other to embrace. She closed her eyes laid her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him with her hands on his shoulder blades. He placed one hand on the small of her back, and the other on the back of her head. He leaned his face into her hair and breathed her in. She was familiar, yet foreign, and her scent made his heart race. “I never thought I would see you again,” he said, “I didn’t know what had happened. No one did.” She opened her eyes and the tears ran out. She pulled back from him, resting her hands on his arms, and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry, she said, “I wasn’t given a choice.” He took her face into his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs, “It’s alright,” he said, “You’re here now.”

They sat on the bed where she’d slept, and she told him everything. How her father lost his faith after her mother died and took her to Skyrim, about their homestead in the Rift, and her father’s passing. “I couldn’t stay there, alone,” she said, “so I just packed up and left.” He nodded at her, his face full of empathy. “What happened to you,” she asked him, “Why aren’t you with the Skaal?” He looked down at the floor briefly before returning her gaze, “The village fell on hard times after you were gone, and the Shaman called for a Ristaag. Of course, my father volunteered right away, but…he was killed by werebears while out on the hunt…at least…that’s what the hunters who found him said. After that I remained in the village as Baldor’s apprentice, until I came of age, then set out to find my own fate. Thirsk was the first place I came to, of course. They needed a smith, and I needed a new life. Been here ever since.”

She reached out and took his hand, “I’m glad you are still here,” she said looking him in the eyes. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, “I’m glad you returned”. He smiled, then a curious expression came over his face, “So, why are you here?” She proceeded to tell him about everything that had happened over the last two weeks. When she finished, she looked at him, nervous. He was staring at the floor, running his fingers through his beard, processing it all. It was a lot of information at once. After they sat in silence for a few moments, he spoke, “So this…Miraak is also Dragonborn, he wants you dead, and your only clue is this Temple you’re going to?” “Yes,” she replied. He nodded at this then stood up from the bed and started walking towards the entryway to the main hall. He stopped to turn back and look at her with a grin, “Well then…let’s not waste any time.”


	8. Temple of Miraak

They had walked west-northwest from Thirsk to the grassy knoll when they encountered the first two skeletons, then they turned north towards the Temple and found three more. “Wha…,” she staggered, “what happened here?” Halbarn looked at her just as baffled and shook his head. “All these…dead dragons...,” she found herself feeling saddened by this. She looked at Halbarn who was staring wide-eyed in panic at something over her shoulder. “Dragon…,” he muttered reaching for his greatsword. “What,” she said turning around to see what he was talking about. He yelled, “It’s a dragon!” A giant, bronze-colored dragon suddenly took flight, breathing fire down upon them. She pulled her bow and nocked an arrow, quickly taking aim. She hit the dragon with several shots, before he circled around to land in front of them with an earth-shaking thud. Halbarn lost his footing, but quickly caught himself, and charged for the dragon with this greatsword, “Die, dragon!” She continued firing arrows at the dragon rapidly, then Halbarn made the final blow as she sent an arrow into the dragon’s eye, collapsing him to the ground. She put up her bow and pulled her hood and scarf from her face as she walked towards the dragon, and Halbarn sheathed his greatsword watching her. The dragon’s body suddenly began to glow orange, then erupted into flames, reducing it to bones. A hot wind burst forth from the skeleton, and blew over her. He watched her in awe as her shiny blonde tresses danced around her head in the wind. When all had calmed down again, she looked at him worried he would be frightened of her. Instead, he smiled from ear to ear as he walked towards her. “There’s no denying,” he pulled his greatsword from his back, “You really are Dragonborn.” He held the sword in front of him, blade to ground, and took a knee in front of her. “You honor me,” he said looking up into her eyes. She didn’t know what to say, and insisted he stand. “Thank you, but…you don’t have to do that. I’m not a Jarl,” she said smiling at him. “No,” he said as he sheathed his sword, “You are Dovakhin, and that is more than any Jarl could ever dream of being.”

When they reached the Temple, there were countless reavers working on its construction. All of them were reciting the familiar chant. “Now through him do we see,” one of them droned as they made their way up the massive stone steps. “It’s like they’re in a trance,” observed Halbarn. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had been in the very same state the night before. As they continued up the scaffolding, she thought she heard someone yelling. As they reached the top of the Temple, she looked down at the Tree Stone, and saw that there was in fact a woman yelling at two of the Skaal who were entranced. “Look there,” she said to Halbarn, pointing at the woman. He nodded that he saw her, too, and they descended the steps towards her. She was frantic, desperate to free them, “You must fight against what is controlling you! We must leave this place! Yrsa, can you hear me? We must leave this place!”

The woman took notice of them, “You there. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?” Before Käthe could ask the woman who she was, Halbarn spoke, “Frea?” The woman squinted at him as she approached them, then suddenly her face lit up with recognition, “Halbarn Iron-Fur! I didn’t recognize you. What are you doing here?” “I was going to ask you the same,” he replied. “I am here to either free my people, or avenge them,” said Frea with determination. “Free them from what,” he asked. “I am unsure,” she replied, “Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. Storn says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible.” “This Miraak tried to have me killed,” Käthe told her. “Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below.” All of a sudden, the Temple entrance opened as if Frea had spoken the magic word to open it, and two cultists attacked them with ice and fire spells and drawn daggers. Frea charged in for the attack, dual-wielding a stunning Stalhrim war axe, and an equally beautiful Nordic war axe. Halbarn ran into the assault while Käthe kept her distance, firing at the cultists with her bow. Once they were dead, the three of them made their way into the temple.

Käthe pulled the chain on the wall, and the large metal door disappeared up into the stone wall. They entered a large room with stairs in the center that lead down further into the Temple. From the ceiling hung several cages containing skeletons and charred corpses. Frea frowned up at them, leaning over the railing of the overlook to the stairs, “I do not wish to imagine the kinds of things that happened in this chamber. Who were the poor souls trapped in these cages? What torture did they suffer at Miraak’s hands? Was it in service to the dragons, or for his own purposes? I do not know what it is that Miraak learned that gave him reason to turn on his masters. But his path seems to have been a cruel one. I wonder if we will find some answers to what happened so long ago.” Halbarn glanced over at Käthe, his brow wrinkled with a concerned expression. The idea of what might have happened to her if he had not come along affirmed that he was where he was supposed to be. Käthe looked over at him, “Are you alright?” He shook it off, “I’m fine,” he replied, and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t tell me the draugr are getting to you,” she poked fun at him with a smirk. He chuckled, “My father did always say to stay away from ruins like these. Good advice, I say.” “Your father was a good man,” offered Frea, “the village truly felt his loss.” Halbarn cleared his throat, trying not to get emotional, “Thank you.”

They had fought their way through countless draugr, skeletons, and several cultists, and the traps had been merciless. They were panting at the top of some stairs that lead even further down into the Temple, “How much deeper can this be,” asked Frea, amazed that they were still descending, “I had been told that Miraak’s power was great, but to have built so large a temple. He took great pains to make it difficult to reach him, it seems. She began walking down the stairs, “It cannot be much further now. I can feel it in my bones.” When they reached the bottom, they entered a room containing several sarcophagi and a menacing skeleton of a dragon suspended from the ceiling. “I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult, but to display the remains in such a manner as this,” said Frea looking up at the skeleton, “It is no wonder the dragons razed his temple to the ground. Seeing the remains hung up like trophies must have enraged them to no end.” Käthe heard the ancient chanting, and when she looked to her left she saw the Word Wall. As she approached it, the Word of Power in the center began to glow, summoning her to it. She studied the word, then whispered, “Mul.” Halbarn came up behind her, “If only we could read these carvings. Who knows what secrets we could learn?” Käthe began to read the inscription, “All praise glorious Miraak. Most powerful servant of all Dragon Priests, whose strength was granted by the gardener of mankind.” He moved to her side and touched her shoulder, “How did you know that?” She looked at him, “I’m still not sure. I think it has something to do with being Dragonb-“.

Without warning the ground began to shake, and Frea turned to them, readying her axes, “Something feels wrong. Brace yourselves!” Halbarn drew his sword, while Käthe pulled her bow and nocked an arrow. One by one the sarcophagi began to break open, and suddenly four draugr were upon them. Frea and Halbarn began hacking and slashing away at the draugr. Käthe was weakening them from a distance when she caught sight of the fifth draugr, the Gatekeeper. “Look out,” she called to them. The Gatekeeper shouted at them with Unrelenting Force, and struck Halbarn with her ebony sword. “Oh no,” Käthe cried out, “Halbarn!” She put up her bow and flipped out her daggers as the Gatekeeper started towards her. Just as she was ready to attack, Frea sent one of her axes through the Gatekeeper’s back, dropping the draugr to the floor. Käthe ran over and knelt down in front of Halbarn, and saw that he had a pretty impressive cut on his right upper arm. She placed her left hand over the wound and concentrated. He looked over at her and watched her face as she healed him. “You look like her, you know?” She met his eyes, her brow furrowed. “She would be proud of you,” he said, referring to her mother. She glanced at the floor, “I hope so,” she replied. She pulled her hand away from his arm, and he rotated it at the shoulder a few times, “I feel better already,” he said. She then noticed the door inside the sarcophagus over his shoulder. She helped him to his feet, then walked over to the door. “Here,” said Frea as she tossed a key to her, “this was on that draugr.” Käthe used the key, and the door opened. “Let’s get going,” said Halbarn.

They passed through two separate dining rooms before they came to a kitchen with no apparent exit. “Dead end? Impossible,” said Frea flabbergasted, “There must be something more! Look around. I will let you know if I find anything in the dining area.” Käthe and Halbarn searched the kitchen for any hidden doors or mechanisms that would open a door. “Hey, I found something,” called Halbarn from an off-shoot of the kitchen. When she found him, he nodded toward a handle on a pillar sitting under a window with a view of the dining area. She pulled the handle and through the window they could see a hidden door in the stone disappear up into the wall. “I knew it! A secret passage in the dining area just opened up,” Frea called to them, “This must be it. Let us move quickly.”

They made their way through a dimly lit, tunneled out section before coming to a room with a seal circular stairwell in the floor and ten books on pillars situated around the room. On the wall was a disturbing sculpture that resembled a fish with sharp needle-like teeth, or perhaps a serpent, with a burning brazier for a mouth. “I wonder if there is something here that tells the story of Miraak,” commented Frea as she looked around the room, “Nothing but ruined books.” They entered the adjacent room and found a triad of the same strange sculptures, and below it another handle on a pedestal. There was another seal circular stairwell in the floor, and Käthe wagered if the handle was pulled, it would open. “I do not recognize this statuary,” remarked Frea looking up at the sculptures, “We passed by a few of them earlier, but they are becoming more frequent as we get further in. I do not like this place. It almost looks as if these statues will come to life at any moment. It looks like there is only one way to proceed. I leave the honor of pulling that handle to you, Halbarn,” she chuckled at him, “I do not want to put my hand anywhere near the mouth of that statue.” “Mhmm,” he mocked her jokingly as he walked over and pulled the handle. The grate to the stairwell opened and they made their way down further into the Temple.

After stumbling through a dark, snaking tunnel, they reached a very hot room illuminated by a fire sizzling beneath the floor. A tall pillar stood in the center of the room, and upon it sat a black book. They filed in and stood on the outer edge of the fiery floor, examining the book from a distance. Käthe squinted and was sure she could see what appeared to be black smoke emanating from between its pages. “There are dark magics at work here,” warned Frea, “Ready yourself. This book…It seems wrong, somehow…Here, yet…not. It may be what we seek.” Käthe quickly leaned over the burning floor to grab the book, then stood next to Halbarn. She looked up at him, a look of worry on his face, handed him the satchel, and then looked back down at the book. She opened it and began reading, “The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thoug-“, “What in the?!” Halbarn reached out for her, but it was too late. Black tentacles sprung from the book, wrapping around her neck and waist.

She suddenly found herself in another place. In another realm. The sky glowed a vibrant green, and she was standing on what appeared to be a metal or stone walkway with a design cut into it so you could see the black, oil-like water upon which it sat. In front of her was a man with his back turned to her. He was addressing four disgusting creatures covered in tentacles with strange faces, and had what looked like mouths in their abdomens. Behind them was a large blue-colored dragon, but his head was not like that of the other dragons she’d seen. He looked more like a giant serpent with wings. “The time comes soon when…What?” He had sensed her presence and turned to face her, then without warning he hit her with a lightning spell that brought her to the ground on her hands and knees. He approached and stood over her, “Who are you to dare set foot here?” She looked up at him from the ground, meeting his eyes through his mask. His voice was filled with arrogance, and he carried himself so. He tilted his head to the side and reached down to hold her head up with a finger under her chin. “Ahhh… you are Dragonborn,” he said with intrigue, “I can feel it. And yet…” he turned her head from side to side, studying her, “You have done little beyond killing a few dragons. You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield.” He abruptly let her chin drop and took a few steps back, “MUL…QAH DIIV!” He shouted, and suddenly his upper body was adorned with a glowing, transparent armor, and the helmet resembled a dragon’s head with horns. He stood before her with his hands on his hips, then approached her again. He lifted her head up again by her chin, forcing her to look at him, “This realm is beyond you. You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple, and I can return home.” He turned his head to speak to the horrific creatures behind him, “Send her back where she came from,” he commanded them, then turned to look at her again and stroked her cheek with his finger, “She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel.” He walked away from her, as two of the creatures approached her, and she watched as he climbed upon the back of the dragon then took off into the sky.

“You’ve returned!” Halbarn said, relieved. “What happened to you? You read the book and then…,” said Frea, “It seemed as though you were not really here. We could see you, but also see through you!” She shook her head at her, “I’m not really sure. I saw Miraak on a dragon.” Frea’s eyes widened with surprise, “Where? Where is he? Can we reach him? Can we kill him?” Käthe shook her head again, “Somehow, reading this book took me to where he was.” Frea folded her arms across her chest, “This is a dangerous thing, then,” she said, “We should return to my village, and show to this my father. Perhaps Storn can make sense of what is going on. Come, there looks to be a way out through here.”


	9. The Fate of the Skaal

The morning sun was bright after their long journey through the dark Temple, and the three of them stopped for a moment to squint and let their eyes adjust. They walked some of the way down the path before Frea stopped them, “You see that green light? That comes from the Wind Stone,” she pointed, “Where my people work against their will. They must be freed soon.” They continued onward towards the suspension bridge by the waterfall. “The village is just ahead,” remarked Frea, so Käthe decided to let the rabbit run around since he had been cooped up in the satchel for long enough. He stretched, yawned, and twitched his nose and whiskers up at her. As they approached the village, they could see the cyclone of cold air and snow infused with lightning, spinning around high in the sky over the village. “Storn has used his magic to raise a barrier around it, protecting the few of us left,” explained Frea, “That the barrier is still standing is a good sign.”

Käthe traded glances with Halbarn as they looked around the village while following Frea to The Great Hall. She paused out in front of her old home, the first house on the right as they entered town. “It was made into a hunting lodge,” said Halbarn, “when they realized you weren’t coming back.” “I’m glad they made use of it,” she replied as they continued walking. “It’s so…lifeless,” said Halbarn. “Everyone must be at the Wind Stone,” replied Käthe, “but not for long.”

“Father! I have returned! There is yet hope!” The shaman was knelt down on his knees in the snow with another of the Skaal on either side of him, helping him to maintain the barrier. He was so much older than she remembered. “Frea! What news do you bring? Is there a way to free our people?” Frea frowned at him, shaking her head, “No, but I have brought someone who has seen things,” she motioned to Käthe who then stepped forward, pulling her hood from her head, “She has confirmed that Miraak is indeed behind the suffering of our people.” “I feared it would be so,” replied Storn, “I fear there is too much we do not yet know.” Frea turned to her, “Please, tell Storn what has happened.”

Käthe walked around to the shaman’s side, “So…the healer’s daughter returns to us after all these years,” he said, “and she brings the smith with her, as well,” he added amusingly. Then he addressed her on a more seriously, “You have seen things, yes? My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around or village. Time is short. Tell me what you know.” “Miraak is behind what’s happening to your people,” she replied. “How do you know this?” “I read a book in Miraak’s temple, and went somewhere. Miraak was there.” Storn nodded in understanding, “The legends speak of that place. Terrible battles fought at the temple. The dragons burning it to the ground in rage. They speak also of something worse than dragons buried within.” Halbarn raised his eyebrows, “What could possibly be worse than a dragon?” “Difficult to imagine,” agreed Storn, “but if true, it means what I feared has come to pass. Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned. If you could go to this place and see him…Are you like Miraak? Are you…Dragonborn?” She nodded, “Yes, I am Dragonborn.” “Then perhaps you are connected with him. The old tales say that he, too, was Dragonborn.” “What does it mean if we are both Dragonborn?” “I am unsure,” Storn replied, “It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction. But our time here is running out. The few of us free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer. You must go to Saering’s Watch. Learn there the word that Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone. You may be able to break the hold on our people there, and free them from control.” She nodded, “I will go there now,” she said. “May darkness never touch you,” Storn told her.

After slaying the dragon and cutting through the draugr, they stood before the Word Wall at Saering’s Watch. She focused on the Word of Power until she felt she understood it, “Gol,” she whispered. “What does this one say,” Halbarn asked, standing beside her. “This stone commemorates Bhar the Earth-Hunter who sat here still. As Earth awaits enlightenment only to become old instead of wise,” she read aloud. “You know,” said Halbarn, “every time you read from one of these, I find myself wondering who created them,” he said looking at her with curiosity. She shook her head at him and shrugged, “I’m not sure. But...it is fascinating.”

When they approached the Wind Stone, they could see that the majority of the villagers were in fact there, all under Miraak’s influence. Käthe approached the Stone and readied her bow. “Get ready,” she told Halbarn, “I’m not what’s going to happen.” Halbarn nodded, pulling his greatsword from his back. She focused on the Word in her mind and remembered how she felt when Halbarn was entranced, she felt anger for what was happening to the Skaal and the people in Raven Rock. Against their will. She took a deep breath then shouted, “GOL!” Seconds later the ground began to shake, the Skaal ran around panicked and confused, and the construction they had been building started to crumble until it exploded. Suddenly, out of the water, rose a tall fish-like creature on two legs with long dangly arms. It roared loudly, spewing a black oil-like substance. Käthe began firing off arrows at the giant creature, and Halbarn was on the offensive with his sword. Some of the Skaal even drew their weapons and jumped into the fray. When they finally brought the monster down, the Skaal stared at the body of the creature, dazed by what had happened. “You did it,” said Halbarn, “You freed them!” She smiled at him wearily. Her balance was off, and her vision was getting hazy. He approached her and put an arm around her to support her, “Come on then. You need food and rest,” he said, escorting her back to the village.

“You have prevailed. I can feel it,” said Storn as he stood up from his dining table. “The Skaal are free,” Käthe replied, “What do we do now?” “If you have released the Wind Stone and broken the hold on my people, perhaps you can do the same for the rest of Solstheim. I doubt it will fully stop whatever Miraak is doing, but it may slow his progress.” “That’s not enough,” chimed in Halbarn, “We need to stop Miraak.” Storn sat down in a chair next to the fire pit in his living area and stared into the flames, “I cannot help with that. None here can. You will need the knowledge Miraak himself learned. You will need to learn more about this Black Book.” “Tell us more about this Black Book then,” she said, handing the book to him. Storn refused to take it from her, but studied its appearance. “Miraak had this? This does not look like something of the Dragon cult. It is a dark thing, unnatural. I would have nothing to do with it. But the Dark Elf Wizard, Neloth….he came to us some time ago, asking about Black Books.  I believe he knows a great deal about them. Perhaps too much. Seek him out to the south, but be cautious, Käthe. There is something else at work here.” As she and Halbarn were leaving, Frea stopped them by the door. “This is the key to the Hunting Lodge,” she said, “I believe it was your home long ago. Please, stay there as long as you want," she smiled warmly.


	10. Moon and Star

As they walked through the village the next morning, she felt as if everyone was staring at her. She thought she recognized most of their faces as she looked around, but they also seemed new to her. She had been gone for so long, and was only a young adolescent when they left. Still, she remembered most, even though many had left. As Frea put it, life is a constant hardship for the Skaal. Nothing is taken for granted and they can’t afford to.

A middle-aged woman approached her with a warm smile on her face. “Hello, snowy child,” said Edla. Käthe’s heart swelled, and she smiled from ear to ear, “Edla!” The woman kissed her cheek and the two embraced. “It is so good to see you,” said Edla as she held her by her arms looking at how much she’d changed. Edla was the village alchemist, and had worked closely with Käthe’s mother. “You look so much like her,” said Edla with a sympathetic smile. “Thank you,” she replied. “Where is Viljam,” asked Edla looking around. She traded a glance with Halbarn before looking at the ground, regretful. “He’s….dead,” she replied. Edla’s brow furrowed and she put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m so sorry. It’s been many winters since my husband returned to the All-Maker, but my heart still aches from the loss.” Käthe nodded that she understood, “And Nikulas?” “Oh, he’s around here somewhere,” said Edla reluctantly, “though his heart grows restless. He has an adventurous soul and wants to leave to explore the world.” “Oh,” she replied, “and how do you feel about that?” “The Skaal are not long for this world,” Edla said, frowning, “I feel his place is here with us. With his people.” “Perhaps I can talk some sense into him,” replied Käthe. Edla smiled at her, “You have a kind spirit.”

“Would you look at what the snow bear dragged in?” They turned to see Baldor Iron-Shaper approaching with his arms outstretched to Halbarn. “He-ey there! Look who it is,” said Halbarn grinning as he gave Baldor a manly hug, “How’ve you been?” “Still tending the forge,” replied Baldor, “It’s good to see you again, my friend! Still hitting the anvil?” “Of course,” said Halbarn. Baldor walked him over to the forge, introducing him to Morwen and showing him some of his projects. “So you’re heading out this morning,” asked Edla. “Yes,” replied Käthe, “south to Tel Mithryn.” Edla nodded, “I have goods to offer, if you have need for your journey. I gathered some plants that are useful for making potions, and among other things I have some fresh bread I baked this morning and vegetables from Finna’s garden.” Baldor patted him on the back, “You take care of yourself out there, Halbarn…and her,” he nodded towards Käthe then winked at him. “Don’t worry about me, and that one knows how to handle herself, trust me,” Halbarn chuckled. They bid farewell, and set off for Tel Mithryn.

They made their way southwest from the village to cleanse the Beast Stone then head east to the coastline. They continued to follow the shore south, passing the old Dwemer ruin, until they reached the Sun Stone, where a group of reavers were entranced. Käthe used her Bend Will Shout on the Stone, freeing the reavers from their indoctrination. The lurker appeared, and with the help of the reavers, they took him down. “Look out!” A reaver yelled pointing towards the beach down the hill. Two more lurkers had surfaced and were making their way towards them. “Ha! I love a challenge!” Halbarn readied his greatsword and charged the lurkers while she began firing at them rapidly with her bow. The reavers drew their weapons and began attacking as well, but one by one they fell quickly. “Ugh…this is taking too long,” she groaned to herself. She stored her bow and pulled out her daggers, running to aid Halbarn. They fought back-to-back and fended off the lurkers, dancing and moving around one another switching targets every few seconds. They finally brought them down, panting, they both sat on rocks to catch their breath.

They made camp on the beach down the hill from the Sun Stone, staking the tent under the shade of a tree. They had built a roaring campfire, and Halbarn decided to take a walk down the coastline to gather more deadwood and kindling. He smiled and chuckled to himself as he remembered a time long ago when they were young whelps playing ‘Seek the Wumpus’ in a nearby cave. Nikulas had chickened out and run back to the Village, leaving the two of them alone. They were exploring the cave when they came to gap in their path where the rock had eroded away and fallen into the water below. “I can make that,” said Halbarn, with unruly black hair. “It’s too far,” she said, her long blonde hair fixed in a braid over her right shoulder. Halbarn took several steps back from the ledge, and flashed her a brash smirk. “Halb…,” she started to plead with him, but he had already sprinted forward. He reached the ledge and leapt forward, and landed on the other side with a roll. He stood up quickly, turning to face her, and threw his hands in the air, “Ha! Told you I could make it. C’mon over,” he said signaling for her to jump. She shook her head at him, “No way! I can’t make that.” He walked to the ledge and extended out his arm to her, “Sure you can! I won’t let you fall. Promise!” She looked unsure, but proceeded to take several steps back from the ledge. He smiled at her reassuringly, “You can do it!” She took a deep breath, then sprinted forward as fast as she could, leaping off the ledge. She crashed into Halbarn, knocking him to the ground. “Ugh,” he groaned underneath her. “Are you alright,” she asked, lying on top of him. “Yeah…I’m fine,” he groaned some more as he sat up on his elbows, looking at her smiling, “I knew you could do it.” They stared at each other for a moment, then Halbarn suddenly leaned forward and kissed her. “Hey!” She recoiled pushing him back with her hand on his chest, “what are you doing?” His eyes widened, and his face flushed with embarrassment, “I uhhh...I….you’re just…uhh…I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his lap. She looked at him with a sympathetic smile, then quickly leaned over and pecked him on the lips, blushing when she pulled away. He looked at her stunned, then slowly smiled at her. She stood up, dusting her knees off, “Last one back to the Village is a rotten Tern egg!” She leapt back over the gap, and ran towards the cave entrance. He stood up, grinning ear-to-ear, then took off after her.

The sun was setting when he returned to camp, and she was nowhere to be found. He peeled back the tent flaps, but there was only the rug, bedroll, lantern, and the rabbit. He sighed, “Well you’re here, so she couldn’t have gone far.” The rabbit twitched its nose and whiskers at him. He let the flaps down and turned to walk towards the water. He pulled off his fur shoes and bracers, setting them on a nearby rock, and waded his feet into the water. He knelt down to wash his hands, and when he looked up, he saw her. Across the water she was sitting on the shore with her legs stretched out into the ocean, her hips and pelvis just barely submerged, and her arms were lifted as she let the braids down from her hair which flowed down to her chest. The waves were crashing into her, and the water moved her hair, exposing her breasts. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his cheeks and ears suddenly felt hot. He stood up and stared out at the ocean, debating with himself.

She noticed movement across the water, and saw him standing on the opposite shore looking out at the water. He turned his back to her and removed his fur armor, and her lips parted and cheeks flushed at the sight of his naked form. He looked statuesque with his muscular frame situated over his firm, shapely bottom. He turned around, and she breathed heavy as her eyes tracked down from his chest to his abs, and she felt a cold sweat when she saw he was slightly aroused. Her eyes darted back up to his face where their eyes met, and she quickly looked away in a panic. Her face felt as if it was burning, and her heart was pounding.

He smiled having caught her looking at him, and dove into the salt water. He started swimming in her direction, stopping half way to rinse his hair and the dirt from his skin. She drew her knees up towards her chest, resting her hands on them. As he washed up onto the shore in front of her, he caught a glimpse of her between her legs and felt himself becoming more aroused. He was perched on his knees in front of her, the waves washing up around his hips. They stared at each other without speaking, and he finally reached over to take her hand. He brought her palm to his lips, gently kissed it, and placed it on his cheek with his hand over it. She smiled at him, and smiling back he did the same thing with her other hand. She took a breath and relaxed, letting her legs stretch back out in front of her. He let the waves push him further ashore, and he stretched out on his left side next to her, propping himself up by his forearm. She looked at him with her chin on her right shoulder, and he reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. His hand was on her right cheek when she leaned over and kissed him, and he breathed in deeply as their tongues entwined.

He moved his hand from her cheek, down her neck to her shoulder and eased her down to the ground on her back next to him. He admired her in awe with a sentimental smile on his face. Her blonde hair in a tangled mess around her head, her incredibly soft skin was adorned with tiny water droplets left by the waves that cascaded around them. His eyes moved down her full breasts to her hourglass waist, as he ran his finger down the midline of her torso. His fingers gently brushed her dark blonde pubic hair, as he looked up to meet her gaze. She was breathing heavy with a fervent look in her eyes, and he felt an aching in his groin. She reached her hand up to run her fingers into his hair, pulling him toward her, and he leaned over her as they kissed with intensity. He caressed and kneaded her breast in his hand, breathing heavy, and she could feel his bulge against her thigh. He moved down her neck with his lips, kissing and nibbling on her ears, and she exhaled loudly. He brought his right leg over to straddle her, and she could feel his swollen cock throbbing on her pubic bone. He worked his way down to her chest, taking her left nipple into his mouth as he reached his fingers down between her thighs, and she moaned. He slid his fingers in between her folds, feeling her wetness, and he groaned loudly into her ribs. He made his way down her abdomen and pelvis with his mouth, then slightly bent her knees up and spread her legs while looking back up at her. Keeping his eyes on her face, he parted her folds and found her clit with his tongue and stroked it a few times. She arched her back, gasping and moaning loudly, and reached up to ball her hair tightly in her fist. He grinned, and moaned into her folds as he continued to stroke her clit with his tongue, increasing his speed gradually. “Halbarn,” she panted in between moans, and he groaned in response. When she was close, she reached down and grabbed his hair, and started driving her hips down into him. She moaned his name loudly, and he inserted his finger into her canal. Every muscle in her body tensed up, and she arched her back again, her head tilted back with her mouth open. She cried out in exultation, her body shaking in rapture, and he felt her wetness running down his finger. She released his hair and her body seemed to go limp, as she laid there panting.

He kissed his way back up to her face, straddling her, and kissed her neck. She reached down and grabbed his cock, as their eyes met, she smiled up at him and bit her lip. He buried his face in her neck and moaned, as she stroked him. He propped himself up on his hands and looked down at her hand as she slid the tip of his cock through her wetness then gently inserted it into her canal. He groaned loudly and leaned down to kiss her lips, staring her in the eyes. He ran his fingers through her hair on either side of her neck, and gently started thrusting. She grimaced a little, and he stopped, “I can stop,” he whispered with a concerned look. She looked up at him and shook her head, “No, don’t,” she said and smiled at him reassuringly. He smiled back at her and nuzzled her cheek as he started thrusting again. She wrapped her legs around his hips as the ocean waves enveloped them. He leaned down and took her right nipple into his mouth, as he increased his speed, and then reached down with his finger to stroke her clit. She closed her eyes and moaned, tilting her head back. He groaned and sat up, taking her hip in his free hand and began thrusting more vigorously. He looked down at her, her brow was furrowed and her lips were parted as she moaned and panted, her breasts shook up and down with every thrust, and her hips grinded in congruence with his. He felt close, and leaned down into her neck again, “Käthe,” he moaned. Her fingernails gently clawed down his back, sending shivers down his spine. He started thrusting rapidly, and pressed his face into her neck, as his body tensed up suddenly. He breathed through clenched teeth then exhaled and moaned through his mouth, “Gggguuughhhh.” His body went flaccid on top of her as he panted, and she kissed his forehead while brushing her fingers through his sweaty hair.

They both laughed as she leaned her head back on his shoulder, “I remember that! Nikulas thought the Greedy Man lived in that cave, so he took off running.” Halbarn chuckled and took a sip of mead, “And now he wants to become an adventurer,” he grinned shaking his head, as he set the empty bottle down. They were full from the beef stew and bread they’d eaten for supper, and the rabbit was enjoying a tasty carrot. She nestled into his chest, his legs stretched out on either side of her. He ran his fingers through her hair, as she started to breath heavy into his neck. He stared into the fire for some time, trying to process through everything in his mind. “Käthe,” he started to say, then looked down and realized she had fallen asleep. He smiled at her sleeping face, kissed her forehead, then stood to pick her up and carry her into the tent. He laid her down on the bedroll, and covered her bare arms with her fur shawl. The rabbit hopped into the tent and found a spot at the foot of the bedroll by her feet. Halbarn stretched out on his side behind her, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. He then lifted his head and blew out the lantern, “Good night.”


End file.
